JC-NRLF 


IROWBRIDGE 


BDDKS    BY    SAME    AUTHOR, 


THE   SILVER   MEDAL. 

YOUNG  JOE   AND   OTHER   BOYS. 

HIS   OWN   MASTER. 

BOUND   IN   HONOR. 

THE   POCKET   RIFLE. 

THE  JOLLY   ROVER. 

PHIL  AND   HIS   FRIENDS. 

THE  TINKHAM    BROTHERS'   TIDE    MILL. 

All  handsomely  illustrated. 


LEE  AND    SHEPARD,    Publishers,   Boston. 


That  Sallu-  was  in  search  of  him  he  could  not  doubt"  [p.  42]. 


PHIL  AND  HIS  FRIENDS 


BY 


¥ 

].   T.   TROWBRIDGE 


ILLTTSTRfiTEn 


BOSTON 
LEE   AND   SHEPARD,  47   FRANKLIN    STREET 

NEW   YORK 

CHARLES    T.   DILLINGHAM,  678   BROADWAY 
1884 


COPYRIGHT, 

1883, 
J/.T/ 


BLHCTROTYPED   AND   PRINTED    BY 

ALFRED  MUDGE  &  SON,  34  SCHOOL  STREET,  BOSTON. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     His  FATHER'S  DEBTS 9 

II.     FATHER  AND  SON 15 

III.  MR.  SOLOMON  BASS 21 

IV.  Miss  SALLIE  BASS 26 

V.  IN  PAWN  .        .        .        .        ,                .        .31 

VI.  IN  THE  WOODS        .        .        .                .              38 

VII.     SALLIE'S  ERRAND 44 

VIII.     LIFE  AT  THE  TAVERN 54 

IX.  A  NEW  SUIT  OF  CLOTHES      ....      60 

X.  THE  BLUE  NECKTIE        .        .        .                -67 

XI.  THE  CRISIS       .        .        .        .        .        .        .74 

XII.    Two  OF  HIS  FRIENDS 81 

XIII.  MR.  BASS'S  ABSURD  CLAIM   ....      89 

XIV.  THAT  SUIT  OF  CLOTHES         .        .        .        .95 
XV.  NEW  HOPE  AND  A  NEW  HOME     .        .        .     102 

XVI.    BASS'S  REVENGE 107 

XVII.  BROWNIK  AND  THE  BUCKBOARD    .        .        .113 

XVIII.  THE   NEW   PROJECT        .        .        .  •     ,        .119 

XIX.  PHIL'S  INVITATION  .        .        .       .        .        .124 


M125979 


g  CONTENTS. 

XX.  PHIL'S  CAVERN  AND  THE  SUMMIT        .        .132 

XXI.  WHAT  BASS  COULD  Uo ]39 

XXII.  MISFORTUNES  NEVER  COME  SINGLY     .        .    145 

XXIII.  FATHER  AND  SON  ONCE  MORE      .        .        .152 

XXIV.  THE  NIGHT  IN  THE  BARN  :  THE  MORNING      .     160 
XXV.  MRS.  CHADBOW  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY  .         .     167 

XXVI.  THE  FIRE !75 

XXVII.  ACCUSATIONS lSl 

XXVIII.  THE  MAN  WITH  THE  GRAY  WHISKERS  .        .  190 

XXIX.  PHIL'S  SECRET         . . 199 

XXX.  Miss  BASS  ONCE  MORE 2o6 

XXXI.  THE  NEW  BUCKBOARD 2I3 

XXXII.  IN  THE  LAWYER'S  OFFICE      ....  219 

XXXIII.  THE  BOY'S  STORY 224 

XXXIV.  CONCLUSION      .        . 231 


PHIL  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

HIS  FATHER'S  DEBTS. 

PHILIP  FARLOW  was  trudging  along  the  village 
street,  bearing  a  fish-pole  and  a  dozen  fine  trout 
on  a  forked  stick. 

The  sun  had  just  set  behind  the  wooded  hills, 
the  distant  mountain  peaks  were  putting  on  their 
loveliest  hues,  and  the  soaring  summit  of  Old  Blue 
was  wondrously  mantled  with  purple  and  gold. 

The  fall  crickets  were  singing,  —  for  it  was  late 
summer,  —  and  the  chasm  beneath  Thunder  Brook 
bridge  was  filled  with  the  solitary  plashy  roar  of  the 
torrent  as  he  passed  over. 

Phil  was  happy  :  he  had  brought  home  some 
thing  beside  his  string  of  fish  from  the  gorges  and 
streams,  —  the  wild  life  of  the  woods,  the  fresh 
odors,  the  beauty  of  the  shadowed  rocks  and  of  the 
leaping  waters. 

(9) 


.19'..".   '.I  •*  ';    .'.KHl£,   A'ND   JIIS    FRIENDS. 

He  had  never  known  much  of  country  life  until 
his  father  brought  him  that  summer  to  the  village 
nestled  there  among  the  spurs  of  the  White  Hills. 
He  had  hardly  even  known  happiness  before,  at  least 
since  his  mother  died,  two  years  ago. 

His  unthrifty  father  was  always  getting  into  debt 
and  flitting  from  place  to  place,  pursued  by  troubles 
which  seemed  to  harass  far  less  the  man  of  forty  than 
they  did  the  boy  of  fourteen. 

For  four  or  five  weeks  now  those  troubles  had 
nearly  ceased.  Coming  to  a  new  field,  where  his 
character  was  unknown,  Mr.  Farlow's  gay  manners 
and  liberal  promises  had  gained  him  credit  and 
friends ;  and  Phil's  uneasy  thoughts  of  the  future 
were  lulled  to  rest.  They  were  destined  to  be 
rudely  jostled,  however,  very  soon. 

He  had  crossed  the  bridge,  and  a  turn  of  the  street 
had  brought  him  opposite  a  variety  store  on  the 
other  side,  from  the  door  of  which  the  proprietor 
called  out  to  him,  — 

"Where  did  ye  git  them?" 

"In  the  pools  up  in  the  woods,"  replied  Phil, 
proudly. 

"  Ketch  'em  with  flies  ? " 

"  Some  with  flies  and  some  with  worms."  And 
the  boy  held  up  his  string  of  trout  to  be  gazed  at. 


HIS   FATHERS    DEBTS.  II 

"  Wai,  ye  done  well !  One  or  two  half-pounders 
amongst  'em,  ain't  they  ? "  said  the  man,  still  talking 
across  the  street. 

Phil  thought  the  largest  of  them  might  turn  the 
scales  at  that  figure. 

"  That  pole  and  tackle 's  ben  doin'  on  ye  good  ser 
vice,"  the  storekeeper  continued,  with  a  genial  smile. 
"  Glad  on  't ;  which  reminds  me,  by  the  way,  your 
pop  's  never  been  in  and  settled  for  'em,  as  he  prom 
ised  to, — for  them  and  some  other  things, — that 
chip  hat  you've  got  on,  for  instance." 

Poor  Phil  lowered  the  fish  he  was  holding  up  so 
proudly,  and  shrank  back  into  himself  with  a  fright 
ened  look  and  gasp. 

"  Has  n't  he?  I  thought,  Mr.  Minkins  —  "  he  be 
gan,  almost  ready  to  lie  in  order  to  excuse  his  father. 

"No,  he  hain't,"  said  Mr.  Minkins.  "Why  don't 
he  come  this  way  no  more  lately  ? " 

"I  — I  don't  know,"  faltered  Phil,  although  he 
could  guess  well  enough. 

"Wai,  jest  remind  your  pop,  will  ye  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,"  Phil  meekly  replied,  as  he  turned  to 
walk  on,  glancing  timidly  around  to  see  who  had 
overheard  this  unpleasant  conversation. 

Drigson,  the  tailor,  had  overheard  it,  for  one.  He 
sat  cross-legged  on  the  counter  by  his  open  shop- 


12  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

window,  near  which  he  had  drawn  his  work  in  order 
~o  make  the  most  of  the  waning  daylight,  and  out  of 
which  he  now  thrust  his  little  bald  head. 
.     "Ha!  That's  a  perty  mess  of  trout  you've  got," 
he  said,  with  a  skinny  smile.     "  Le'  me  see." 

Phil  was  no  longer  in  a  mood  for  exhibiting  his 
trophies ;  he  paused,  nevertheless,  and  swung  them 
around  in  full  view  of  the  sallow  old  man. 

"  Perty  good  !  perty  good  !  You  had  the  luck  to 
hook  the  good-sized  ones." 

"  I  flung  back  the  little  ones,"  Phil  explained. 

"  That 's  right !  that 's  right !  Some  of  you  sum 
mer  boarders  go  out  and  fetch  home  strings  of  little 
bits  of  fellers  no  bigger 'n  your  finger,  that  it's  a 
perfect  shame  to  see  took  out  of  the  water :  no 
wonder  trout  is  growing  skurce.  I  used  to  bait  a 
ho.ok  occasionally  myself,  when  a  man  could  get  a 
good  mess  for  breakfast  without  tramping  miles  for 
'em  ;  but  that  has  n't  been  of  late  years.  Has  your 
father  left  town  ? " 

"No,  sir."  And  Phil  moved  on,  in  dread  of  what 
was  coming  next. 

"  I  ain't  seen  nor  heard  from  him  lately,"  the  tailor 
continued,  still  leaning  his  head  out  of  the  window, 
with  his  elbows  on  the  sill,  and  raising  his  voice  as 
the  distance  between  him  and  Phil  increased.  Lest 


HIS    FATHERS    DEBTS.  13 

he  should  be  growing  too  loud,  the  sensitive  boy 
thought  it  best  to  stop  again.  "  I  sent  him  my  bill, 
and  the  last  time  he  went  by  I  spoke  to  him  about 
it ;  and  I  've  been  to  see  him  two  or  three  times, 
but  I  've  got  nothing  but  pleasant  words  from  him  ; 
which  I  must  say,"  added  the  tailor,  with  a  sweet 
grimace,  "he  is  by  all  odds  the  pleasantest  man  I 
ever  measured  for  a  suit  o'  clo'es.  If,  only,"  — 
here  the  grimace  turned  somewhat  sour,  —  "  if  he 
was  a  leetle  mite  more  prompt  in  paying  an  honest 
man's  bill." 

"  I  'm  sorry  —  I  —  I  'm  sure,"  said  Phil,  in  deep 
distress,  trying  to  get  away. 

"  I  'm  sure  you  are.  And  see  here,  my  good  little 
boy,"  cried  the  tailor,  with  a  fawning,  persuasive  sim 
per,  lowering  his  voice,  "  get  the  money  from  your 
father  and  bring  it  to  me,  and  I  '11  make  you  a  hand 
some  present  out  on  't." 

"  I  '11  bring  it  to  you  without  taking  any  present,  if 
I  can,"  Phil  replied,  as  he  finally  moved  on. 

He  had  not  gone  far  when  a  rattling  buggy  drew 
up  beside  him,  and  an  old  gentleman  put  out  his  head 
from  under  the  black  top. 

"  Whenever  you  catch  more  fish  than  you  know 
what  to  do  with,  you  may  bring  'em  to  me,"  he  said, 
with  humorous  gravity. 


14  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  thank  you,"  stammered  the  boy. 

"  Are  you  pretty  well  now  ? " 

The  old  gentleman  often  asked  Phil  that  question 
in  a  friendly,  half-professional  way.  He  was  the 
village  doctor,  and  he  had  brought  him  safely  out  of 
a  fit  of  sickness  when  the  Farlows  first  came  to 
town. 

"I  am  well  now,"  Phil  answered.  "I  wish  you 
would  take  these"  offering  the  trout,  with  a  sudden 
recollection  of  his  indebtedness. 

"  I  'm  obliged  to  you,  Phil,"  said  the  doctor,  with  a 
smile.  "  I  won't  take  your  fish.  But  there 's  one 
thing  you  must  learn  to  take,  — a  joke.  Did  you  hand 
your  father  that  bill  the  other  day  ? " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Why  don't  he  pay  it  ? " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  wish  he  would  —  I  wish  he 
could  —  pay  you,"  said  Phil,  ready  to  whimper  with 
shame  and  grief. 

The  doctor  regarded  him  with  curiosity  and 
sympathy. 

"  I  know  you  wish  it  :  you  're  an  honest  boy. 
I  'd  rather  lose  the  bill  than  hurt  your  feelings. 
Keep  well  and  keep  honest,  Philip.  Good  day." 

The  kind  face  disappeared  under  the  black  top, 
and  the  buggy  rattled  on. 


FATHER   AND    SON.  15 


CHAPTER     II. 

FATHER    AND    SON. 

MR.  FARLOW  boarded  with  his  son  at  the 
village  tavern.  Solomon  Bass  was  the  land 
lord,  and  Sallie  Bass,  aged  sixteen,  was  his  only 
child. 

Sallie  had  front  teeth  too  large  for  her  mouth 
(though  her  mouth  was  by  no  means  small),  curly 
red  hair,  cut  short  like  a  boy's,  and  freckles.  People 
used  to  say  that  a  witch  met  her  as  she  was  coming 
into  the  world  and  threw  bran  in  her  face.  People 
used  also  to  say  they  wondered  her  face  did  n't  ache : 
she  was  so  homely. 

But  she  was  a  good  friend  to  Phil  ;  and  you  might 
often  have  seen  them  playing  together  like  two 
boys.  Tomboy,  the  neighbors  called  her. 

She  did  n't  care  ;  she  liked  being  a  tomboy,  and 
was  never  happier  than  when  hunting  hens'  eggs 
or  going  a-berrying  or  a-fishing  with  Master  Phil. 

She  ran  out  to  meet  him  as  he  approached  the 
old-fashioned  tavern —  which,  within  a  year  or  two, 


1 6  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

had  grown  smart  with  a  new  coat  of  paint  and 
the  title  of  hotel — and  accompanied  him  into  the 
yard. 

"  O  Phil  !  "  she  cried,  "  it 's  too  mean  for  anything 
I  could  n't  go  with  you  this  afternoon  !  But  I  had 
to  do  that  awful  writing  for  pa." 

"  Where  's  my  father  ?  "  said  Phil,  gloomy  and 
agitated. 

"  I  guess  he  's  around  somewheres,"  Sallie  replied. 
"  How  funny  he  is  lately  !  When  anybody  comes 
he  don't  want  to  see,  he  slips  out  the  back  way  and 
hides  in  the  barn." 

"  Does  he  ?  "  said  Phil,  bitterly.  "  Who  is  wanting 
him  ?  " 

"  Folks  he  owes  money  to,  I  guess,"  said  Sallie. 
"The  washerwoman  has  been  after  him  two  or  three 
times  to-day.  Has  n't  he  really  got  anything  to  pay 
with  ?  Pa 's  getting  dreadfully  worked  up  about  it ; 
and  I  '11  tell  you  something,  if  you  won't  tell." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  Phil  asked,  as  they  passed  under 
the  shed,  where  he  threw  down  his  string  of  fish  on 
a  bench. 

"  One  thing  I  had  to  do  to-day  was  to  make  out  his 
bill,  and  it 's  an  awful  long  one.  Pa  says  it  must 
be  paid  now.  I  hope  there  won't  be  any  trouble 
about  it ;  if  there  is,  it  won't  be  my  fault,  Phil." 


FATHER    AND    SON.  I/ 

"  I  know  that."  Phil  choked  a  little  and  went  on. 
"I  don't  see  what  we're  going  to  do." 

"  What  makes  you  care  ? "  Sallie  inquired,  with 
wondering  kindness.  "  It  ain't  your  fault,  neither. 
I  wouldn't  mind, — but  ain't  he  a  strange  man, 
though  ?  He  may  not  be  to  blame  for  having  no 
money,  but  then  he  need  n't  take  so  many  rides  and 
smoke  so  many  cigars  he  can't  pay  for.  That 's  what 
pa  says." 

"  He  never  paid  for  this  fish-pole  ;  and  I  wish  I 
had  never  seen  it ! "  said  Phil,  throwing  it  down 
spitefully,  and  looking  as  if  he  was  about  to  cry. 
"  And  that  new  suit  of  his,  —  he  could  have  got  along 
without  a  new  suit.  And  the  doctor,  —  I  wish  they 
had  let  me  die  before  they  ever  called  him  in  We 
shall  have  to  leave  here,  —  I  see  it  all,  —  and  begin 
our  old  miserable  life  over  again." 

"  How  was  that,  for  mercy's  sake,  Phil  ? "  said 
Sallie. 

"  I  can't  tell.  It  was  what  killed  my  mother.  I  '11 
see  him,"  said  Phil,  with  sudden  resolution,  "  and 
say  to  him  what  I  've  never  dared  to  say  yet,  —  I  '11 
say  it,  though  he  is  my  father  !  " 

He  found  the  elder  Farlow  walking  leisurely  to 
and  fro  in  the  large  corner  room  they  occupied,  — 
the  best  in  the  house,  — smoking  a  cigar.  The  boy's 


1 8  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

heart  beat  so  fast  at  the  thought  of  what  he  had 
come  to  say  that  he  could  not  find  breath  to  say  it  ; 
and,  with  a  sick  look,  he  sank  down  on  a  chair. 

"  I  was  waiting  for  you,  Phil,"  said  the  man,  with 
out  pausing  in  his  walk.  "  I  want  you  to  get  your 
things  quietly  together,  ready  to  leave  here  in  the 
morning." 

"  Are  we  going  ? "  Phil  asked,  in  consternation. 

"  Rather !  "  replied  his  father,  with  a  heartless 
laugh.  "  There  are  indications  that  I  have  outlived 
my  usefulness  here.  That  abject  creature,  the  land 
lord,  glowers  upon  me  in  a  way  no  gentleman  can 
put  up  with." 

He  turned  to  look  at  himself  in  the  glass.  It 
was  a  full,  amiable,  dissipated  face  he  saw  there, 
and  a  stocky  form  jauntily  dressed.  He  arranged 
his  necktie  and  smoothed  his  rough  chin. 

"  I  have  n't  had  a  shave  for  three  days.  That 
barber  is  a  rascal.  He  seems  to  think  I  'm  a  mint  of 
money.  He  has  been  after  me  this  afternoon,  con 
siderably  sharper  than  his  best  razor." 

"Can't  a  man  shave  himself?"  Phil  tremblingly 
inquired. 

"  Course  he  can,  if  he  chooses.     Why  ? " 

"  I  should  think  he  would  always  choose,  when  he 
has  n't  money  to  pay  a  barber." 


FATHER   AND    SON.  IQ 

Mr.  Farlow  turned  suddenly  and  looked  at  the  boy, 
surprised  at  his  audacity. 

"  You  should  think  so,  should  you  ?  "  he  exclaimed, 
sarcastically. 

Gaining  courage  with  his  breath,  Phil  broke  out 
impetuously,  — 

"O  father!  don't  be  angry  at  what  I  say!  It's 
only  what  mother  used  to  say;  and  I  know  it  is  true, 
and  you  know  it.  It 's  dreadful  to  be  always  hav 
ing  to  dodge  your  debts  in  this  way.  Mr.  Minkins 
dunned  me  on  your  account  as  I  came  along,  and  so 
did  the  tailor  and  the  doctor,  all  within  five  minutes ; 
and  people  on  the  street  heard  them,  and  I  never  felt 
so  mortified  in  all  my  life.  Why  can't  we  pay  our 
debts,  like  other  people  ? " 

"  Because  it  is  n't  convenient,  that 's  all.  I  'd  pay 
if  I  could.  Don't  be  a  fool,  boy  !  Take  it  easy,  as 
I  do." 

Mr.  Farlow  puffed  his  cigar  and  resumed  his  walk. 

"  I  wish  you  would  n't  take  it  so  easy,"  said  Phil, 
beginning  to  cry.  "  If  you  spent  some  of  the  time 
in  earning  money  which  you  do  in  making  debts  and 
studying  how  to  get  rid  of  paying  them,  it  would  be 
so  much  better.  Why  don't  we  go  to  work  ?  I  'd 
rather." 

At    this    the  man   lost   his    temper,   and    with    a 


2O  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

furious  gesture  flung  his  cigar  from  the  window. 
It  was  only  half  smoked,  and  he  did  not  know  where 
he  was  to  get  another  ;  but  'that  made  no  difference 
with  the  improvident  Mr.  Farlow. 

"  Things  have  come  to  a  pretty  pass,"  he  cried, 
angrily,  "when  a  man  has  to  be  lectured  by  his  own 
son.  I  can  stand  a  good  many  things,  but  I  can't 
stand  that" 

He  seemed  convulsed  with  passion.  Phil  regarded 
him  with  fear  and  pity,  strangely  mixed  with  thrills 
of  affection  :  for,  after  all,  this  man  was  his  father; 
and  it  pierced  him  to  the  heart  to  see  him  so  moved. 

The  storm  was  only  a  gust,  however  ;  it  was  over 
in  a  moment.  A  false  and  shallow  life  of  self-in 
dulgence  undermines  the  character,  and  renders  it 
incapable  of  any  deep  and  permanent  feeling.  Mr. 
Farlow  could  not  even  be  serious  for  five  minutes. 

"  Come  !  "  He  turned  again,  after  stamping  madly 
across  the  room,  and  confronted  the  wretched  boy 
with  mocking  laughter  "  Get  up  on  the  chair  there, 
and  preach  your  dad  a  sermon.  By  the  laws,  you 
shall ! " 

He  was  actually  laying  hold  of  the  lad,  and  poor 
Phil  was  struggling  to  escape,  when  there  came  a 
rap  at  the  door. 


MR.    SOLOMON    BASS  21 


CHAPTER    III. 

MR.    SOLOMON  BASS. 

MR.    SOLOMOM  BASS    appeared,  a  short,  fat 
man,   with    puffy,  purple   cheeks,    and    small* 
imbedded   eyes,    like  those  of   a    pig.      Farlow   was 
himself  again. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Landlord  !     Just  in  time." 

Perceiving  an  ominous  paper  in  Solomon's  hand, 
and  a  determined  look  in  the  dull  eyes,  he  added, 
quickly,  — 

"  I  was  just  sending  my  boy  down  to  ask  you  to 
make  out  our  bill.  Regret  extremely  to  leave  your 
hospitable  roof,  you  know,  but  business  is  pressing  ; 
and  if  you  will  have  the  kindness  to  get  your  account 
ready—" 

"  I  Ve  got  it  here,"  said  Solomon,  dryly ;  while 
Sallie  showed  her  teeth  in  the  doorway  behind  him 

"  All  right."  Mr.  Farlow  took  the  paper  and 
tossed  it  carelessly  on  the  table.  "  I  '11  examine  it 
and  arrange  matters  in  the  morning." 

"Can't  ye  just  as  well  arrange  matters  now?" 
said  Solomon  Bass. 


22  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

He  was  not  only  pig-eyed,  he  was  also  known  to 
be  extremely  pig-headed,  when  he  had  once  made 
up  his  mind.  That  his  mind  was  made  up  now, 
Mr.  Farlow  could  see  by  the  lurid  light  in  his  red 
veined  and  mottled  face. 

"  Oh,  certainly !  "  said  the  boarder,  with  intrepid 
cheerfulness,  taking  up  the  paper  again.  He  held 
it  toward  the  open  window,  and  scanned  it  with  an 
air  at  once  complacent  and  critical. 

"  Board  for  self  and  son,  forty-four  dollars.  Teams, 
twenty-seven  dollars.  I  suppose  that  is  all  right. 
But  what  is  this?  Hens  nest?  I  haven't  had  any 
hen's  nest." 

"  It  ain't  hen's  nest.  What  is  it,  Sallie  ?  "  said 
Mr.  Bass. 

"  Sundries  ! "  said  Sallie,  scornfully.  "  I  don't 
write  so  bad  as  all  that  ! " 

"Sundries;  why,  of  course!"  said  Mr.  Farlow, 
pleasantly.  "  It 's  very  well  written  indeed,  Sallie  ; 
only  the  light  is  poor.  Twenty-nine  dollars.  Ain't 
that  rather  steep  for  sundries,  Mr.  Landlord  ?" 

"  Guess  not."  Mr.  Bass  rolled  over  from  one 
leg  to  the  other,  while  a  shrewd  twinkle  came  into 
the  small  eyes.  "  You  've  had  everything  charged, 
you  know,  even  to  your  cigars  ;  which  ain't  com 
mon  with  gentlemen,  and  which  it  ain't  my  custom 


MR.    SOLOMON    BASS.  23 

to  allow,  not  by  no  manner  of  means.  But  while 
you  was  waiting  for  your  baggage,  which  you  said 
had  gone  astray,  and  expecting  your  remittances, 
which  did  n't  seem  to  come,  I  did  n't  like  to  crowd 
you." 

"Very  kind  in  you,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Farlow. 
"  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  recommending  your 
house  and  its  obliging  landlord,  and  sending  you  a 
great  many  guests."  And  once  more  he  tossed  the 
bill  on  the  table,  as  if  it  had  been  settled. 

"  I  've  been  more  obliging  than  I  ever  shall  be 
again,  if  I  know  myself,"  said  Solomon  Bass ; 
"and  I  can't  say  as  I  hanker  much  for  the  kind 
of  guests  you'll  be  likely  to  send.  If  you  object 
to  the  sundries,  there  's  the  items, — two  columns  of 
drinks,  you  '11  notice." 

"  I  notice,"  laughed  the  boarder.  "  That 's  all 
right.  I  only  regret  I  did  n't  make  it  three  columns. 
I  owe  you  a  hundred  dollars,  Mr.  Bass." 

Mr.  Bass  rolled  over  on  the  other  leg,  and  winked 
approvingly. 

"  Which,  I  'm  sorry  to  say,  I  must  continue  to  owe 
for  a  few  days,"  Mr.  Farlow  added,  in  his  easy  way. 
"  My  remittances  have  n't  come,  and  I  'm  going  to 
see  about  them." 

"  This  is  how  you  propose  to  arrange  it,  is  it  ?  " 
cried  Solomon. 


24  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

"  Certainly,"  coolly  replied  Mr.  Philip  Farlow. 
"  Is  n't  it  satisfactory  ?  " 

"  Satisfactory  !  To  be  swindled  and  robbed  as 
I  Ve  been  by  you  !  I  '11  have  you  arrested,  sir  !  " 

"  Oh,  well,  if  you  think  you  can  arrange  matters 
more  to  your  mind  in  that  way,  you  're  welcome  to 
try.  Phil,  we  sha'n't  go  in  the  morning,  after  all. 
We  are  going  to  stay  and  be  arrested."  So  saying, 
the  cheerful  debtor  flung  himself  upon  a  chair  in 
an  attitude  of  exasperating  indifference. 

"I'll  have  you  up  for  false  pretences,  sure  as 
fate,"  vowed  the  landlord,  with  fat,  clinched  fist, 
his  little  eyes  dully  glowing,  "  if  you  don't  give  me 
my  hundred  dollars,  or  some  security." 

Farlow  was  quietly  drumming  with  his  fingers  on 
the  window-sill.  He  stopped,  and  looked  up  with  a 
hopeful  expression. 

"  Security  ?  I  '11  give  you  anything  I  Ve  got,  — 
see  how  accommodating  I  am,  —  but  I  don't  know 
what  it  will  be,  unless  — 

He  hesitated,  and  glanced  down  at  the  suit  made 
for  him  by  Drigson,  which  he  had  on.  Then  he 
dangled  his  watch  chain,  —  but  it  was  only  a  chain  : 
the  watch  was  gone  long  ago.  At  length  his  eyes, 
having  wandered  around  the  room,  rested  on  Phil. 

"  Unless  you  take  my  boy  there.     Cpnie,  landlord, 


MR.    SOLOMON    I5ASS.  2$ 

an  idea  strikes  me.  I  '11  leave  him  as  a  hostage,  — to 
have  and  to  hold,  possess  and  enjoy,  till  I  make  full 
payment  of  the  hundred  I  owe  you." 

"  Think  I  'm  a  fool  ? "  muttered  Solomon,  after 
stupidly  staring  for  a  moment,  as  if  unable  to  take  in 
this  strange  proposition. 

Sallie  pulled  his  arm  and  whispered  something  in 
his  ear. 

"  Nonsense,  Sal !  "  He  pushed  her  impatiently 
off.  "  What  good  would  the  boy  be  to  me  ?  I 
should  only  have  him  to  feed." 

He  was  going  from  the  room,  when  Farlow,  who 
had  been  drumming  again,  called  after  him. 

"  Consider  it,  will  you  ?  'T  will  be  better  than 
trying  the  arrest  dodge,  and  so  losing  all  chance  of 
getting  your  money.  Well,  as  you  please." 


26  PHIL   AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

MISS    SALLIE    BASS. 

FATHER!"  exclaimed  the  horrified  boy, 
after  Bass  was  gone,  "you  wouldn't  do  it, 
would  you  ? " 

"  Why  not  ?  It  's  the  easiest  way  out  of  our 
present  difficulties.  I  shall  strike  a  streak  of  luck, 
and  send  for  you  before  winter." 

"  You  are  always  talking  about  a  streak  of  luck," 
retorted  Phil,  his  eyes  flashing  through  tears. 
"  You  never  struck  one  yet,  and  you  never  will." 

"Won't  I  ?"  said  his  father,  with  a  resentful  curl 
of  the  lip.  "Then  of  course  you'll  be  better  off 
here  than  roughing  it  with  me." 

"But,  father,  put  me  to  work  at  some  honest 
trade  ;  or  take  me  with  you.  Don't  pawn  me,  as 
you  would  an  old  coat.  O  father  !  " 

Phil  was  earnestly  pleading  when  Sallie  reap 
peared. 

"  Pa  wants  to  see  you  down-stairs,  Mr.  Farlow," 
she  said,  with  a  gleam  of  triumph  in  her  good- 
natured  face. 


MISS    SALLIE    BASS.  2? 

"  You  've  talked  him  over  ? "  sa^jd  Farlow,  eagerly. 

"  I  guess  so,"  said  Sallie,  with  a  smile  and  nod. 

"  Don't  go  !  don't,  father!  "  And  Phil  threw  him 
self  forward  to  prevent  his  father  from  rising  from 
the  chair. 

"  Don't  hold  me,"  said  Farlow,  struggling  to  his 
feet.  "  It  will  be  all  right.  Let  go  !  " 

He  unclasped  Phil's  hands  by  main  force,  and 
left  the  room,  while  the  boy  fell  face  downward 
upon  the  vacant  chair,  sobbing  and  refusing  to  be 
consoled  by  the  sympathetic  Sal. 

"  Come,  Phil,"  said  the  girl,  trying  to  lift  him  up ; 
"  I  would  n't  feel  so  about  it.  I  should  be  glad  if  he 
did  leave  me  here,  if  I  was  you  What  do  you  want 
to  keep  with  him  for  ?  " 

'•  He  is  my  father,"  said  the  wretched  boy.  "  I 
would  n't  mind  his  leaving  me  ;  but  to  think  of  his 
doing  it  in  this  way.  " 

"  That  shows  what  sort  of  a  man  he  is,"  urged  Sal. 
"The  sooner  you  are  rid  of  him  the  better.  You  like 
this  place,  don't  you  ?  Have  n't  you  had  a  good  time 
here,  rozberrying  and  blackberrying,  sassafrasing 
and  checkerberrying  ?  and  finding  sweet -flag  and 
spruce-gum  ?  Don't  I  know  the  nice  spots  ?  and 
hain't  I  took  you  to  'em  ? " 

There  was  not  a  youngster  in   the  neighborhood 


28  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

more  familiar  with  the  woods  and  fields  than  Bass's 
tomboy,  as  she  was  called  ;  and  she  had  indeed  shown 
Phil  all  their  treasures  ;  but  he  turned  a  deaf  ear  to 
her  persuasions  now. 

"There's  piles  of  trout  to  be  ketched  yet,"  she 
went  on  ;  "and  I  '11  go  with  you  next  time,  and  show 
you  the  pool  where  me  and  pa  hauled  out  the  lunkers 
last  spring.  And  the  frost  grapes  !  I  know  the  shore 
in  the  meadows  where  the  bushes  and  trees  are  cov 
ered  with  'em  !  It 's  perty  near  time  for  'em  now  ; 
and  I  would  n't  miss  'em  for  anything." 

Phil  .sat  up  in  the  chair,  still  disconsolate,  how 
ever,  in  view  of  all  these  promised  delights. 

"Think  of  his  offering  to  pawn  me,  —  for  that's 
what  it  amounts  to,"  he  said,  in  a  fresh  burst  of 
rage.  "  What  would  my  mother  say  ?  Don't  talk  to 
me  of  frost  grapes  !  " 

"  And  you  really  want  to  go  off  with  that  man  !  " 
cried  Sallie.  "  O  Phil  !  what  are  you  thinking  of  ? 
Jest  at  the  beginning  of  nutting  time!  You  never 
was  in  the  woods  after  a  big  blow  in  the  fall  of  the 
year,  or  you  would  never  be  willing  to  leave  this  place, 
—  with  nuts  getting  ripe,  —  let  me  tell  ye  !  We  can 
gether  bushels ;  and  have  all  we  want  to  eat  and  lay 
up  for  winter,  and  some  to  sell  besides." 

"  To  sell  !  "  said  Phil  growing  interested  as  a  pros- 


MISS   SALLIE    BASS.  2Q 

pect  opened  of  his  raising  money  and  paying  some  of 
his  father's  debts. 

"  Of  course,  to  sell !  And  then  there  's  cider  time 
coming.  I  guess  you  never  took  apples  to  a  cider- 
mill  and  watched  the  grinding  and  pressing,  and 
the  cider  running  down  the  grooves  in  little  rivers. 
And,  oh  my  !  did  you  ever  suck  new  cider  through 
a  straw  ?  " 

"  I  knew  he  would  do  almost  anything  to  dodge  a 
debt,  but  I  never  thought  he  would  do  this,"  said 
the  inconsolable  Phil. 

"  The  fact  is,"  replied  the  girl,  candidly,  "he  is  no 
sort  of  a  man.  If  he  can  jest  eat  and  drink,  and 
smoke,  and  ride  around  and  treat  his  friends  with 
other  folks'  money,  that's  all  he  thinks  of  for  the 
time.  Little  he  cares  what  happens  to  you  or  any 
body  to-morrow.  Every  one  sees  through  him  after 
a  little  while.  Only  to-day  he  promised  our  Bridget 
a  silk  dress.  You  should  have  seen  her  laugh  as 
soon  as  his  back  was  turned  !  '  He  has  a  rich  mouth, 
but  a  poor  pocket,'  says  she.  '  If  I  wait  for  the  gown 
he  will  give  me,  you  '11  see  me  going  in  rags 

Sallie  imitated  the  Irish  brogue  and  ended  with  a 
laugh.  Thereupon  Phil  flared  up. 

"  You  sha'n't  make  fun  of  my  father  !  He  's  a  gen 
tleman,  whatever  you  may  say  ;  and  he  has  always 
been  kind  to  me." 


3O  PHIL   AND    HIS   FRIENDS. 

"Well,  I  do  declare!"  Sallie  r.eplied,  sitting  on  a 
hassock  and  looking  at  him  with  amused  wrinkles 
about  her  freckled  nose,  and  her  big  teeth  shining. 
"  Kind !  He  's  jest  awful  kind  to  you  now,  ain't 
he  ?  I  'd  f oiler  him  all  over  the  world,  if  I  was  you. 
I  was  going  to  tell  you  of  the  sleigh-rides  we  '11  have 
next  winter,  —  they're  dreadful  nice  !  And  the  spell 
ing  schools  and  the  day  schools  you  could  go  to  if 
you  wished.  But  no  matter.  There 's  the  bell.  Your 
fish  are  fried,  and  you  'd  better  go  down  and  get  your 
supper." 

"  I  sha'n't  eat  any  supper  till  I  know,"  Phil  declared. 
Nor  could  she,  by  the  most  persistent  coaxing,  in 
duce  him  to  go  down. 

"  I  hate  you  !  "  he  suddenly  broke  out,  seeing  the 
plain  face  close  to  his,  smiling  altogether  too  sweetly 
upon  him.  "  And  I  wish  you  would  let  -me  alone!  " 

"  Oh,  well  !  I  can  do  that  ! "  cried  Sallie,  with 
spirit,  jumping  up.  "  Some  time  you  '11  maybe  know 
who  your  friends  was  and  wish  you  'd  kep'  'em.  I 
spoke  a  good  word  for  you  to  pa.  He  don't  want 
you.  '  No  son  of  such  a  man  as  that,'  says  he,  '  will 
ever  be  worth  the  husks  he  sleeps  on.'  I  did  n't  think 
so,  and  I  teased  him  to  let  you  stay.  This  is  the 
thanks  I  get  for  it.  Hate  me,  do  you  ? "  And  Miss 
Sallie  waltzed  scornfully  out  of  the  room. 


IN   PAWN.  31 


CHAPTER  V. 

IN    PAWN. 

PHIL  knew  he  had  done  her  wrong,  and  was  sorry 
for  it  when  it  was  too  late.     Her  sympathy  was 
better  than  none  ;  and  why  should  he  have  been  so 
irritated  at  the  sight  of  her  homely  features  thrust 
near  his  own  ? 

His  anxiety  was  more  than  he  could  bear,  now  that 
he  was  left  alone.  Determined  to  know  the  worst, 
he  was  going  to  find  his  father,  when  that  light- 
hearted  delinquent  came  swaggering  into  the  room, 
smiling  with  satisfaction  and  smoking  another  cigar. 

"  Have  you  pawned  me  ? "  Phil  demanded,  with  a 
sort  of  sullen  fierceness  burning  in  his  red,  wet  eyes. 

"  Pawned  you  ?  What  are  you  talking  about  ? " 
said  Farlow,  evasively.  "That's  not  the  proper 
phrase  to  use,  my  boy." 

"  I  don't  care  for  the  phrase,  I  mean  the  thing," 
replied  Phil.  "  I  've  seen  enough  of  pawning  when 
I  've  been  knocking  about  with  you.  I  know  what  it 
is.  Sometimes  you  call  it  shoving  things  up  a  spout. 
Say,  have  you  shoved  me  up  ? " 


32  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

"Nothing  of  the  sort."  Farlow  paced  the  room 
and  puffed.  "  I  merely  mentioned  leaving  you  here 
as  a  hostage.  That's  nothing  new  or  dishonorable 
or  uncommon  :  history  is  full  of  hostages." 

"  Well,"  cried  Phil,  his  fear  and  grief  giving  place 
to  desperate  defiance,  "  have  you  done  it  ? " 

"  If  I  have,  it  means  simply  that  you  are  to  stay 
here  a  little  while  until  I  can  make  arrangements  for 
you  elsewhere.  That 's  all.  It 's  nothing  you  need 
be  troubled  about.  But  it 's  not  decided  yet,"  Far- 
low  added,  in  a  careless  tone  ;  "  and  it  won't  be  till 
morning.  So  come  along  to  supper." 

"  I  won't  go  to  supper  till  you  tell  me  it  is  not  to 
be  at  all,"  said  Phil.  "  I  ought  to  have  something  to 
say  about  it,  and  I  say  this  :  if  you  use  me  to  pay 
for  your  horses  and  liquors  and  cigars,  I  never  will 
call  you  father  again,  and  I  '11  run  away  from  this 
house  as  soon  as  the  thing  is  done.  Now  you  know." 

"  Well,  well ! "  said  Farlow,  in  a  slightly  embar 
rassed,  mildly  conciliatory  tone.  "  I  did  n't  think  you 
would  feel  so  about  it.  Of  course,  if  you  object, 
there  's  an  end  of  it.  I  '11  see  what  else  can  be  done 
in  the  morning." 

Phil  knew  his  father  too  well  to  be  fully  satisfied 
with  this  smooth  answer.  How  could  he  tell  that  it 
was  not  one  of  his  easy,  convenient  fasehoods  ? 


IN    PAWN.  33 

He  went  down  to  supper,  however,  and  afterwards 
tried  to  learn  the  true  state  of  the  case  from  Sallie. 
But  Sallie  was  resentful,  and  would  have  nothing  to 
say  to  him.  She  turned  her  back  at  his  approach, 
and  went  off  romping  with  one  or  two  companions. 

Phil  was  deeply  hurt  ;  he  felt  as  if  he  had  lost 
his  only  friend.  A  lonely,  anxious,  miserable  night 
awaited  him.  Even  if  he  was  not  to  be  pledged  as 
security  for  his  father's  debts,  he  knew  too  well  that 
their  troubles  were  not  over. 

In  order  that  he  might  be  up  early  the  next 
morning,  he  went  early  to  bed.  But  he  could  not 
sleep. 

"  How  can  he  sleep  ? "  he  said  to  himself,  hearing 
his  father's  deep  and  steady  breathing  in  the  bed 
near  his  own.  "  Why  am  I  troubled  when  he  cares 
so  little  for  what  may  happen  ?  " 

He  tossed  feverishly  about  until  near  midnight. 
Then  he  lost  himself,  and  the  first  thing  he  knew,  it 
was  morning. 

He  started  up.  It  was  broad  day.  A  streak  of 
sunlight  stole  through  the  curtains  and  fell  across 
the  coverlet.  He  sat  up  and  looked  over  eagerly 
at  the  bed  in  which  his  father  had  slept.  It  was 
tumbled  and  empty.  His  father  was  gone. 

Phil  sprang  out  with  trepidation  and  pulled  on 
3 


34  PHIL   AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

his  clothes.  Hurrying  down-stairs,  he  found  the 
landlord  sweeping  the  piazza  floor. 

"  Where  is  my  father  ? "  he  asked. 

Solomon  rested  his  broom,  and  turned  his  small, 
sleepy-looking  eyes  on  the  agitated  boy. 

"  Your  father?     He  left  here  a  good  hour  ago." 

"  Where  has  he  gone  ?  " 

"That's  more'n  I  know.  He  told  some  of  his 
creditors  he  would  square  accounts  with  'em  this 
mornin' ;  so  what  does  he  do  but  kick  his  heels  at 
'em  'fore  they  was  stirrin',  —  expectin'  the  stage  to 
pick  him  up,  I  s'pose." 

The  boy  stood  panting  a  moment,  then  said,  — 

"  Did  he  square  accounts  with  you  ? " 

"  t)on't  you  know  he  did  ? "  said  Solomon,  going 
on  with  his  sweeping. 

"  Did  he  pay  you  ? "  Phil  demanded.  "  Did  he  give 
you  any  money?" 

"About  as  much  as  the  feller  sold  his  dog  for," 
Bass  replied,  with  just  a  gleam  of  humor  in  his  puffed 
and  red-veined  face.  "  Sold  him  for  a  hundred  dol 
lars,  but  took  his  pay  in  puppies,  —  five  puppies,  at 
twenty  dollars  apiece.  You  are  the  puppies,  Bub." 

"  He  has  sold  me  ? "  said  Phil,  in  a  tremor  of 
passion. 

"  Not  edzacly  that."     Solomon  rolled  over  on  one 


IN    PAWN.  35 

leg  and  rested  his  broom  again.  "  To  git  my  pay  for 
keepin'  him  and  you,  I  'm  to  keep  you  a  spell  longer. 
That 's  where  the  puppies  comes  in.  He  says  he  '11 
settle  in  cash  and  take  you  away  within  a  month. 
Mabby  he  will  and  mabby  he  won't ;  so  me  and  you 
may  as  well  make  up  our  minds  to  like  each  other, 
Bub." 

"  I  told  him  I  would  n't  stay  here  in  any  such  way 
as  that,"  cried  Phil,  excitedly;  "and  I  won't!" 

"  I  ruther  guess  ye  will,"  Solomon  replied,  his  pig- 
eyes  dully  blinking.  "  I  Ve  got  it  in  writin'." 

Phil  turned  abruptly  and  went  back  into  the 
house. 

In  his  room  he  crammed  a  few  small  things  into 
his  pockets  and  buttoned  an  extra  shirt  under  his 
coat.  Then  he  went  quietly  out  by  the  back  way, 
speaking  with  no  one,  and  hid  in  the  barn.  There 
he  watched  through  a  crack  for  a  good  opportunity, 
and,  seeing  that  he  was  not  followed,  soon  slipped  out 
•  by  a  small  rear  door,  and  took  to  the  fields. 

He  sauntered  carelessly  along  until  some  bushes 
on  the  edge  of  a  piece  of  woods  concealed  him  from 
view ;  then  he  began  to  run.  Over  rocks  and 
through  thickets  he  made  his  way,  and  in  half  an 
hour  came  out  on  the  open  road,  a  mile  from  the 
village. 


36  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

It  was  the  stage  road,  —  the  same  Farlow  had  prob 
ably  taken.  But  his  design  was  neither  to  overtake 
his  father  nor  to  be  picked  up  by  the  coach.  He 
had  no  settled  plan,  but  only  a  vague  determination 
to  get  well  away  from  Bass  and  begin  a  new  life  in 
some  place  where  he  was  unknown. 

The  cool  air  of  the  August  morning,  the  sunshine 
striking  through  the  trees  that  overshadowed  the 
track,  the  dewy  freshness,  action,  and  freedom, — 
all  this  had  a  charm  for  him  even  then,  and  made 
him  half  forget  his  griefs  in  a  sense  of  exhilara 
tion. 

The  woods,  opening  on  one  side,  gave  him  glimpses 
of  the  mountains  he  loved  so  well,  and  he  stopped 
to  take  a  farewell  look  at  Old  Blue. 

From  a  high  rock  by  the  roadside  he  gazed  up 
across  barren  pastures  and  wooded  spurs,  to  the  far 
away,  peaceful  top,  sunlit,  clothed  in  firs  that  sprung 
from  gulfs  of  shadow,  where  the  blue  light  deepened 
to  blackness.  He  thought  of  the  bright  streams 
that  came  down  from  chasms  in  those  crags,  the 
trout-pools  and  cascades,  and  heaved  a  sigh  of 
regret.  Should  he  never  visit  them  again  ? 

The  roar  of  one  of  those  brooks  reached  his  ear 
as  it  tumbled  down  through  a  hollow  and  crossed  the 
road  a  few  rods  farther  along.  He  would  bid  good 


IN    PAWN.  37 

by  to  that,  and  then  hasten  on,  wherever  good  or  ill 
fortune  might  lead. 

But  just  as  he  was  going  to  step  down  from  the 
rock  he  heard  a  wagon,  driven  rapidly.  He  thought 
he  knew  the  sound  of  those  wheels,  and  waited  to 
let  them  pass.  Sure  enough,  it  was  Bass's  light 
open  buggy,  with  Bass  himself  whipping  his  white 
horse  along  the  road. 


38  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

IN    THE    WOODS. 

pig-eyes  were  looking  straight  before  and 
did  not  see  Phil  perched  on  the  rock,  who 
said  to  himself,  — 

"  He  thinks  I  have  gone  on  after  father,  and  he  is 
chasing  us.  Let  him  chase  !  I  don't  want  anything 
to  do  with  him." 

So,  instead  of  jumping  down  from  the  rock,  Phil 
climbed  over  a  knoll  and  entered  the  hollow  through 
which  the  brook  poured.  Remembering  that  he  had 
had  no  breakfast,  he  resolved  to  find  one  whilst  wait 
ing  for  Bass  to  return  and  leave  the  way  clear  for 
his  journey. 

Up  through  the  woods  he  went,  keeping  the  course 
of  the  brook,  now  crossing  it  on  stones,  now  climb 
ing  the  banks,  and  clambering  over  ledges  mossy  or 
bare,  passing  many  a  waterfall  and  clear,  dark  pool. 
Natural  places  for  trout,  but  too  near  the  village  not 
to  be  all  "  fished  out,"  as  he  had  learned  by  previous 
experience. 

At   last   he  reached  a  spot  far  up  in  the  gorge, 


IN   THE   WOODS.  39 

seldom  penetrated  by  any  but  the  most  adventurous 
fishermen. 

Beyond  a  steep  ledge,  down  which  the  brook  flashed 
and  foamed,  the  woods  opened ;  and  he  found  him 
self  in  a  little  glen.  In  the  midst  was  a  rocky  basin, 
blocked  by  great  bowlders,  amidst  which  the  shadowy 
water  swirled. 

On  his  way  through  the  thickets  he  had  cut  a 
birch  rod,  to  which  he  now  attached  the  end  of  a 
line  he  took  from  his  pocket.  To  the  other  end  he 
looped  an  artificial  fly,  selected  for  its  color  from  a 
dozen  he  carried  in  an  old  envelope.  It  was  soon 
skipping  over  the  deep  places,  beside  the  bowlders, 
and  in  the  foam  where  the  brook  poured  down  into 
the  basin. 

A  silvery  flash,  a  tightening  of  the  line,  and  a 
bending  of  the  rod  :  a  fine  trout  was  hooked.  Two 
others  were  soon  landed. 

Then  Phil,  leaving  rod  and  line  flung  across  the 
bowlders,  opened  his  pocket-knife  at  the  water's  edge 
and  proceeded  to  prepare  his  breakfast. 

Having  dressed  his  fish,  and  laid  them  on  green 
leaves,  he  looked  for  a  good  place  to  make  a  fire. 
On  one  side  the  sun  lay  bright  and  warm  on  ledges 
where  only  a  few  stunted  saplings  grew.  Gathering 
there  a  pile  of  dry  sticks  in  a  favorable  spot,  he 


4O  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

struck  a  match,  touched  it  to  a  handful  of  dead 
leaves,  and  soon  had  a  blaze. 

While  the  fire  was  kindling  he  shaped  two  or 
three  sharp  forks  out  of  green  twigs,  to  be  used  as 
spits,  impaled  his  fishes  on  them,  and  soon  had  one 
broiling  over  the  coals. 

It  was  not  the  first  time  he  had  lunched  in  that 
primitive  fashion,  and  learned  how  sweet  to  a  hungry 
boy  a  small  trout  is,  cooked  in  the  woods  beside  the 
stream  from  which  it  was  taken,  held  hot  in  the 
fingers,  and  eaten  without  salt. 

After  breakfast,  having  drunk  from  the  basin,  and 
then  used  it  as  a  finger-bowl,  he  resolved  to  explore 
the  gorge  farther  up. 

"  It 's  my  last  chance,"  he  said,  "  and  I  may  as  well 
make  the  most  of  it.  I  '11  see  what 's  in  the  great 
hole  I  found  the  other  day." 

Half  hidden  by  a  thicket,  under  the  steep  side  of 
the  mountain,  —  so  steep  that  it  seemed  toppling 
down,  —  was  a  cavern,  which  looked  as  if  it  had  been 
scooped  out  by  the  torrent  in  bygone  ages  before 
it  had  cut  its  present  bed  through  the  rocks  below. 
The  floor  was  covered  with  moss  and  dead  leaves  ; 
the  walls  were  smooth,  the  rock  above  projected  like 
a  roof. 

A  wild  fancy  crossed  the  mind  of  the  lonely  and 
homeless  boy. 


IN    THE    WOODS.  41 

"  I  might  sleep  here,  and  live  on  the  fish  in  the 
brook." 

But  then  a  shudder  seized  him,  as  he  thought  of  the 
gloomy  autumn  coming,  the  long,  dreary  nights,  and 
the  terrible  winter.  Could  he  build  a  fireplace  in 
there,  wall  up  the  entrance,  and  protect  himself  from 
hunger  and  cold  ? 

He  was  too  sensible  a  boy  to  dream  of  such  a 
thing,  except  in  the  mood  of  doubt  and  desperation 
he  was  in  that  morning.  As  it  was,  he  soothed  his 
anxious  soul  by  planning  a  possible  hermitage,  cloth 
ing  himself  in  the  skins  of  savage  beasts  (for  there 
were  bears  in  the  mountains),  and  living  a  life  of 
solitude  and  misanthropy  astonishing  to  men. 

He  lay  a  long  while  on  the  dry,  mossy  floor,  digest 
ing  his  breakfast,  listening  to  the  brook  singing 
through  the  gorge,  and  indulging  these  wild  fancies. 
Then,  startled  by  a  rustling  of  the  bushes,  he  sprang 
to  his  feet. 

His  first  thought  was  that  a  bear  was  coming  home 
to  the  very  den  into  which  he  had  strayed,  and  that 
he  had  better  get  out  of  it. 

He  stopped  near  the  entrance,  however,  to  obtain 
a  sight  of  the  approaching  object,  and  saw  what 
almost  made  him  laugh. 

Not  a  bear,  by  any  means,  but,  standing    among 


42  PHIL   AND    HIS   FRIENDS. 

loose  stones  above  the  brook,  where  scattered  poplars 
grew,  looking  about  with  an  air  of  bewildered 
curiosity,  her  freckled  face  squinting  in  the  slanting 
bars  of  sunshine,  the  tomboy,  Sallie  Bass. 

Phil's  heart  gave  a  leap  of  joy,  not  simply  because 
the  comer  was  not  a  bear,  but  because  in  his  friend 
less  solitude  he  recognized  a  friend. 

He  yearned  to  go  out  and  show  himself  to  Sallie, 
but  restrained  the  first  eager  impulse,  remembering 
that  he  had  left  his  life  at  the  tavern  behind  him, 
and  dreading  to  renew  any  ties  that  might  draw  him 
back  to  it. 

That  Sallie  was  in  search  of  him  he  could  not 
doubt.  She  pushed  the  boughs  aside  and  looked  all 
about,  —  down  at  the  brook  and  up  at  the  crag,  — 
then  stopped  and  listened,  her  lips  apart  and  her 
white  teeth  gleaming  among  the  green  leaves. 

She  carried  her  sunbonnet  in  her  hand,  and  her 
short  red  hair  was  tumbled  over  her  eyes ;  not  like 
the  artificial  "  bangs  "  of  the  period,  whose  barbarous 
ugliness  spoils  many  a  pretty  brow,  but  with  an 
unkempt  carlessness  well  in  keeping  with  her  char 
acter  of  tomboy. 

Phil  laughed,  with  sympathetic  tears  in  his  eyes, 
as  he  watched  her  looking  for  him  up  and  down  the 
gorge,  while  he  was  so  near.  She  seemed  to  hesi- 


IN    THE    WOODS.  43 

tate,  undecided  whether  to  turn  back  or  go  on, 
when  something  in  the  appearance  of  the  overhang 
ing  ledge  attracted  her,  and  she  gazed  straight  at 
the  bushes  through  which  he  peered. 

"  Phil  Farlow  !  "  she  cried  ;  "  are  you  in  there  ?  " 
He  could  hardly  keep  from  tittering  nervously  as 
she  advanced  towards  him,  groping  among  the 
poplars  and  fixing  her  eyes  on  the  very  spot  where 
he  was,  still  without  seeing  him.  Suddenly  she 
started  back  with  a  half-frightened  expression,  then 
darted  resolutely  forward,  thrusting  the  bushes 
aside. 


44  PHIL   AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

SALLIE'S  ERRAND. 

/T>HE  two  met  face  to  face.     Phil   burst  into  an 
•*-       excited  laugh. 

"  Wai,  if  you  ain't  a  perty  feller  !  "  cried  Sallie, 
laughing  too,  but  with  very  different  emotions. 
"What  a  chase  you  have  given  me  !  What  did  you 
hide  away  from  me  for  ? " 

"  I  did  n't  hide  away  from  you.     What   were  you. 
chasing  me  for  ? "  retorted  Phil. 

"  Because  I  wanted  to  find  you,"  said  Sallie,  "  and 
be  friends  with  you  again,  —  and  —  and  I  —  I  'm 
awful  sorry  I  was  cross  with  you  last  night :  you 
had  trouble  enough  without  that." 

"  I  did  n't  blame  you,"  said  Phil.  "  I  said  a  horrid 
thing  to  you.  It  was  because  I  was  just  worried  to 
death.  I  did  n't  mean  it." 

"  I  did  n't  believe  you  did,"  cried  Sallie,  overjoyed. 
"  If  I  had,  I  should  n't  have  come  here  to  find  you 
and  bring  you  something." 

"  What's  that  ?"  Phil  asked,  eagerly. 


45 

"A  letter  your  father  left  for  you."  And  she 
took  a  crumpled  envelope  from  her  pocket. 

Phil  turned  pale  as  he  broke  it  open  and  read  its 
brief  contents.  His  first  agitation  changed  to  dis 
appointment,  and,  returning  the  letter  to  the  enve 
lope,  he  thrust  it  into  his  coat. 

"  I  thought  you  might  be  glad  to  get  it,"  Sallie 
said,  eying  him  curiously. 

"  So  I  should  have  been,  if  he  had  written  only 
one  word  to  —  " 

He  choked,  winked  away  a  tear,  and  added,  bit 
terly, 

"All  he  says  is,  that  he  thought  it  best  not  to 
wake  me  to  say  good  by  ;  he  felt  obliged  to  go  with 
out  me,  and  I  shall  hear  from  him  in  a  few  days. 
Just  as  if  —  " 

But  evidently  the  boy's  feelings  were  softening  a 
little  towards  his  father.  He  took  out  the  letter  and 
read  it  again,  then  heaved  a  sigh. 

"  I  suppose  he  means  what  he  says.  But  it 's 
little  enough  he  will  ever  do  for  me  after  this.  I  've 
only  myself  to  depend  on,  and  I  'm  glad  I  know 
it." 

"  Just  as  though  you  did  n't  have  any  friends," 
said  Sallie,  "  nor  any  home." 

"  I  Ve  no  home   but    this,"    replied    Phil,    with   a 


46  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

touch  of  the  melancholy  with  which  he  had  been 
investing  his  fancied  hermit  life. 

"  This  den  ?  "  said  Sallie.  "  What  a  strange  place 
it  is  !  What  a  place  to  hide  if  a  man  was  hunted  ! " 

"So  I  thought,"  Phil  answered.  "But  you  found 
me.  How  did  you  know  I  was  here? " 

"  I  heard  a  noise,  and  I  knew  you  was  n't  fur  off." 

"  How  did  you  know  it  ?  " 

"Why,  didn't  I  see  your  fish-pole  and  line  on 
the  rocks  and  your  fire  smoking?  I  should  have 
met  you  if  you  had  gone  back  down  the  gorge,  so 
I  believed  you  had  gone  up." 

"  How  did  you  know  it  was  my  fire  ? " 

"  Because  you  went  off  without  your  breakfast ; 
and  I  saw  the  sticks  you  br'iled  your  trout  on  and 
the  fish-bones  you  left,  —  me  and  you  br'iled  our 
fish  together  there  once,  you  know ;  so  when  pa 
heard  you  had  been  seen  on  the  road,  but  could  n't 
find  you,  I  guessed  where  you  had  gone.  Don't  ye 
see  ? " 

"You're  a  cute  girl,  Sallie." 

"  Wai,  I  guess  I  ain't  nobody's  fool,  when  ye 
come  to  that,"  said  Sallie,  with  a  little  toss  of  her 
head.  "  Come,  you  're  going  back  home  with  me, 
je  know  it?" 

"I  don't  know  anything  of  the  kind,"  replied  Phil, 


SALLIE  S    ERRAND.  47 

turning  cold  towards  her.     "  Your  father  has  bought 
me."     And  he  told  the  story  of  the  puppies. 

"That's  jest  pa's  nonsense!"  laughed  Sallie. 
"  You  're  jest  going  to  stay  there  till  your  father 
sends  for  you  ;  that's  all  there  is  to  it." 

"Till  he  takes  me  out  of  pawn!"  said  Phil,  an 
angry  light  coming  into  his  eyes.  "  I  told  both 
him  and  your  father  that  I  would  n't  stay  on  any 
such  terms  ;  and  I  won't !  " 

They  had  walked  out  of  the  cavern  and  stood 
among  the  saplings.  Sallie  looked  at  him  saucily. 

"  Do  you  know  what  pa  thinks  ? " 

"  I  don't  care  what  he  thinks." 

"Then  it  won't  hurt  your  feelings  if   I  tell  ye," 
she   said,  with  a  laugh.     "He  thinks  it's  a   game, 
your  father  and  you  have  played  before." 

"  A  game  ?"  he  repeated. 

"Yes.  He  runs  in  debt,  and  then,  instead  of 
pledging  a  trunk,  or  anything  that  has  n't  got  legs, 
he  leaves  his  son,  that  has  legs,  and  will  run  off  on 
'em.  Then  you  go  with  him  to  some  other  place 
and  play  the  same  trick  over  again." 

Phil  flushed  resentfully.     "  You  say  that  ? " 

"  No  ;  that 's  what  pa  says,  and  that 's  what  I  'm 
afraid  he  '11  make  everybody  in  town  think,  if  you 
don't  go  back  there." 


48  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

"  Why  is  he  so  anxious  to  keep  me  ? " 

"Truth  is,  I  teased  him  to.  Pa '11  do  anything 
for  me,  ye  know.  Then,  of  course,  he  wants  some 
thing  to  keep  your  father  in  mind  of  the  hundred 
dollars  he  owes  us.  Come,  Phil,  do  go  back." 

"And  run  up  a  still  larger  bill  by  boarding  there  ? 
Not  I  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Why,  you  can  do  a  few  chores  to  pay  for  your 
board,  if  that  will  suit  you  any  better.  I  '11  fix  it  any 
way  you  like,"  she  promised  him. 

"I  shouldn't  mind  a  little  work;  that  isn't  it," 
said  Phil. 

"  I  know  that.  You  like  to  feed  the  calves  and 
chickens ;  you  have  done  it  for  fun  with  me  many 
a  time.  I  reminded  pa  of  that ;  and  you  know  you 
like  to  be  about  the  bosses." 

"All  that  isn't  work  ;  it's  play." 

"  So  much  the  better  if  you  like  it,  for  it  will  count 
for  work,  if  you  want  to  do  it  reg'lar,  to  pay  for  your 
board." 

Sallie  looked  in  his  face  and  saw  that  his  resolu 
tion  was  wavering.  She  went  on  artfully, — 

"  Then,  if  you  should  want  to  pitch  into  work  in 
earnest,  I  don't  see  why  you  could  n't  do  it  and  pay 
off  the  debt  that  worries  you  so.  Take  yourself  out 
of  pawn,  as  you  call  it.  I  would ;  and,  instead  of 


V 


"  '.What  did  you  hide 
away  from  me  for  ?  '  " 
[p.  44]. 


"  '  Huh ! '  said  the  wondering  Solomon  "  [p.  53J. 


SALLIE  S    ERRAND.  49 

being  ashamed  of  what  my  pa  had  done,  I  'd  jest  be 
proud  of  what  /'d  done." 

She  watched  the  working  of  his  features  and  saw 
the  light  of  new  hope  and  resolution  come  into  them. 
She  continued,  — 

"  That  would  be  my  style.  You  would  n't  catch 
me  running  away.  When  I  got  ready  to  go,  I  'd  jest 
walk  away,  independent  of  everybody,  so  that  folks 
should  say,  '  There  goes  a  smart  chap,  and  an  honest 
chap,  one  that 's  earned  the  respect  of  people,  say 
nothing  of  a  pocketful  of  money.'  That 's  what  I  'd 
make  'em  say  of  me,  if  I  was  a  boy  in  your  place." 

"  I  believe  you  would,  Sallie.  I  wish  I  could." 
A  gloom  overspread  the  brightened  face.  "  But  I 
can't " 

"  Too  proud  ?  "  said  Sallie. 

"That  may  be  it.  I  couldn't  look  folks  in  the 
face  and  know  they  were  saying  to  themselves, 
'That's  the  boy  his  father  pawned  for  his  board 
bill.'  I  could  n't." 

"  You  'd  make  'em  forget  that  ;  or,  if  they  re 
membered  at  all,  they  would  say,  'There's  the 
plucky  feller  that 's  "paying  his  pa's  debts  ;  wish 
there  was  more  such  boys.'  ': 

Phil  could  not  help  feeling  that  it  would  be  a 
noble  and  courageous  thing  thus  to  redeem  the 

4  * 


5O  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

honor  of  the  family,  and  that  nobody  whose  good 
opinion  was  worth  having  would  despise  him  for  it. 

As  he  was  looking  through  the  poplars  at  the 
brook  tumbling  down  the  gorge,  she  resumed  her 
argument :  "  There  's  going  to  be  more  teaming 
than  ever  when  the  summer  boarders  come  next 
year ;  and  if  I  was  you,  I  should  druther  drive  'em 
about  than  do  anything  else.  I  can  coax  pa  ;  I  '11 
see  't  you  have  a  good  chance." 

Phil  was  still  struggling  with  his  pride.  "  How 
can  I  go  back,  after  folks  know  I  Ve  started  to  run 
off?  "  he  objected. 

"  Who  knows  it  ?  "  said  Sallie.  "  Me  an'  you  '11 
ketch  a  couple  of  big  strings  of  trout  and  lug  'em 
home,  and  folks  '11  jest  think  we've  been  a-fishing." 

He  hesitated.  "  I  don't  object  to  catching  a  few 
trout,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  let 's  !  " 

She  ran  down  to  the  basin  for  his  rod  and  line ; 
while  he,  half  regretting  that  he  had  conceded  so 
much,  cut  another  pole  in  the  thicket.  Boy-like,  she 
also  carried  a  line  in  her  pocket.  It  was  soon  attached 
to  the  rod  and  furnished  with  a  fly,  and  they  began 
their  sport,  —  for  sport  it  was,  even  to  Phil.  The  day 
was  perfect.  The  sunshine  spotted  the  boughs  above 
their  heads,  gilding  the  limbs  and  great  trunks,  and 


SALLIES    ERRAND.  51 

slanting  down  here  and  there  to  the  mossy  slopes 
and  bright  water  ;  the  woods  were  green,  with  the 
exception  of  now  and  then  a  maple-branch  burning 
with  the  first  flames  of  autumn  ;  the  sky  above  was 
deep  blue  ;  the  flies  skipped  on  the  foam  of  the 
waterfalls ;  the  trout  leaped  ;  the  woods  resounded 
with  the  music  of  young  voices. 

The  fish,  as  they  were  taken  from  the  pools,  were 
strung  upon  a  forked  stick,  which  Sallie  and  Phil 
took  turns  in  carrying.  But  soon  a  second  stick  had 
to  be  cut,  and  they  had  each  a  string.  By  the  time 
both  were  well  loaded  with  handsome  trout,  the  res 
olution  with  which  Phil  started  out  in  the  morning 
had  grown  faint  in  his  heart,  and  he  was  ready  to  go 
home  with  Sallie. 

"  What  ?s  there  ?  "  she  asked,  as  he  turned  aside 
from  the  brook  and  lifted  a  piece  of  dry  bark  from 
behind  a  mossy  log. 

He  took  out  from  that  rude  hiding  place  a  pair  of 
socks,  and  the  shirt  which  he  had  buttoned  under  his 
coat  before  leaving  the  hotel. 

"  I  wonder  you  did  n't  find  them  when  you  fol 
lowed  on  my  track,"  he  said,  laughing  rather  sheep 
ishly  over  this  meagre  outfit  for  a  journey. 

It  was  like  a  dream  to  him  now,  that  he  had  started 
to  run  off  in  that  fashion.  How  much  more  sensible 


52  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

it  seemed  to  stay  with  Bass,  for  a  few  days  at  least, 
or  until  some  visible  fortune  beckoned  him  else 
where. 

He  buttoned  his  extra  shirt  under  his  coat  again, 
watched  by  the  shrewd  Sallie,  who  was  not  quite 
certain  yet  that  her  persuasions  had  prevailed. 

"  You  're  going  home  with  me,  I  know,"  she  said, 
with  a  laugh. 

"  I  suppose  I  must,  —  if  you  say  so,"  replied  Phil. 

"  Of  course  I  say  so  !  "  she  cried,  gleefully.  "  Come 
on,  now  :  we  Ve  got  fish  enough." 

They  wound  up  their  lines  and  put  them  in  their 
pockets,  throwing  away  the  poles  ;  then  they  started 
for  home  with  their  strings  of  trout. 

They  attracted  no  little  attention  as  they  entered 
the  village,  for  the  report  had  spread  that  both  father 
and  son  had  left  town. 

"  Never  mind  their  staring  at  you,"  whispered  Sal- 
lie  "  Walk  as  if  you  was  as  good  as  anybody,  and 
a  little  better.  Head  high.  That 's  it." 

"  I  vum  ! "  said  storekeeper  Minkins,  gazing  from 
his  door,  "  if  there  ain't  little  Phil,  after  all !  Jest 
been  a-fishin'  with  Bass's  tomboy !  Hallo  ! "  he 
called  across  the  street,  "where  did  you  git  them?" 

"Up  in  the  gorge  under  Old  Blue,"  replied  Phil, 
adding,  in  an  undertone,  "  He  always  asks  where  I 
get  my  fish." 


SALLIES    ERRAND.  53 

"  Why  don't  ye  give  him  such  an  answer  as  '11  shet 
him  up  ?  "  said  Sallie.  "  I  would." 

"  Why  did  n't  ye  take  yer  pole  along  ? "  Minkins 
inquired  ;  he  could  n't  help  mentioning  that  pole. 

"  We  don't  need  a  pole  where  we  've  been,"  said 
Sallie. 

"  Sho  !     How  du  ye  ketch  'em  ?  " 

"  Pick  'em,"  she  answered,  saucily.  "  We  've  found 
a  place  where  they  grow  on  trees." 

Minkins  laughed  good-naturedly.  "  Jes  like  Bass's 
tomboy,  for  all  the  world,"  he  said,  as  she  and  Phil 
walked  quickly  on.  "  Can't  nobody  git  the  start  o' 
her." 

In  the  tavern  yard  they  met  Solomon  Bass,  who 
opened  Irs  pig-eyes  wide  at  sight  of  Phil. 

"  Wai  !  where  you  been  ?"  he  demanded,  gruffly. 

"Don't  you  see?"  cried  Sallie,  swinging  the  string 
of  fish  up  almost  into  his  puffy  face.  Then  she 
stuck  her  sharp  elbows  into  his  fat  ribs  as  she  passed 
between  Phil  and  him,  saying,  in  a  whisper,  — 

"'Sail  right!  Don't  say  nothing,  or  you'll  spile 
it." 

"  Huh !  "  said  the  wondering  Solomon. 

He  made  no  allusion  to  the  morning's  adventure, 
nor  greeted  the  boy's  return  with  any  other  sound 
than  that  grunt  of  doubtful  satisfaction. 


54  PHIL   AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

LIFE    AT    THE    TAVERN. 

SO  Phil  went  back  and  resumed  his  life  there,  much 
as  if  nothing  had  happend. 

It  must  he  owned  that  he  missed  his  father : 
nobody  could  help  liking  that  jovial  gentleman ; 
and  Phil  was  sincerely  attached  to  him,  with  all  his 
faults. 

"  What  a  man  he  might  have  been,"  he  said  to 
himself,  mourning  over  those  faults  and  the  separa 
tion  they  had  led  to.  "  If  he  was  only  as  honest  as  he 
is  pleasant,  and  if  he  made  people  respect  as  well  as 
like  him !  I  suppose  it  is  the  best  thing  for  me  to 
be  away  from  him." 

The  mother's  part  in  the  boy  —  his  heart  and 
conscience  —  had  often  noticed  with  alarm  how 
easy  it  was  for  him  to  evade  the  truth  and  frame 
false  excuses  when  he  was  under  his  father's  in 
fluence. 

"  I  will  be  truthful  and  steady  now,"  he  vowed 
within  himself,  in  the  loneliness  of  his  room  that 


LIFE   AT   THE   TAVERN.  55 

night  "  And  I  never  will  smoke  and  drink  and  run 
in  debt  like  him." 

He  had  seen  enough  of  the  ruin  caused  by  such 
habits  of  self-indulgence. 

He  did  not  sleep  in  the  fine  large  chamber  he  had 
occupied  with  his  father,  but  was  given  a  poor  little 
bed  in  a  garret.  He  felt  the  change  deeply,  but  said 
to  himself,  with  a  stout  heart,  — 

"  What  else  could  I  expect  ?  Bass  does  n't  believe 
he  will  ever  get  his  hundred  dollars,  and  I  am  only 
puppies." 

He  left  Sallie  to  arrange  matters  for  him  with  her 
father,  and  went  on,  the  next  day,  cheerfully  helping 
about  the  lighter  chores,  as  he  had  often  done 
before. 

Soon  Bass  began  to  ask  him  to  do  other  things. 

"  Don't  ye  think  ye  can  milk  a  cow,  Bub?  Guess 
ye  can." 

Phil  said  he  would  try  ;  and  from  that  time  milk 
ing —  not  only  one  cow,  but  often  two  or  three  — 
became  one  of  his  stated  tasks. 

He  no  longer  sat  at  the  hotel  table  with  the  guests, 
—  the  guests,  indeed,  except  now  and  then  a  tran 
sient  one,  were  gone,  —  but  ate  with  the  family,  not 
greatly  pleased  with  their  coarse  manners  and  plain 
fare. 


56  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

By  degrees  Solomon  began  to  make  his  requests 
commands,  addressing  Phil  as  he  would  any  other 
servant. 

"Take  some  barrels,  Bub,  and  pick  up  the  rest 
of  them  apples;  and  don't  be  all  day  about  it, 
nuther ! " 

The  last  phrase  hurt  Phil's  feelings ;  but  it  was 
one  which  whoever  worked  for  Bass  had  to  get  used 
to,  soon  or  late. 

Mrs.  Bass  also  found  it  convenient  to  call  upon 
him  when  she  needed  help  about  the  house ;  and 
even  the  ostler  ordered  him  around. 

The  more  work  he  had  to  do,  the  less  fun  he  found 
in  it.  It  was  not  like  running  out  when  he  liked, 
with  Sallie,  to  hunt  hen's  eggs  or  feed  the  chickens 
and  pigs. 

But  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  feeling  that  he  was 
at  least  paying  his  way  ;  nor  did  Sallie's  promises  of 
pleasant  pastimes  fail  him  altogether.  They  gath 
ered  frost  grapes  and  shagbarks  in  their  season,  and 
helped  about  the  cider  making  ;  and  he  enjoyed  the 
felicity  of  sucking  that  liquor  in  its  innocence 
through  a  straw. 

Then,  as  Sallie  was  going  to  school  in  the  winter 
she  managed  to  have  him  go  too. 

His  education  had  been  sadly  neglected  since  his 


LIFE    AT   THE    TAVERN.  57 

mother  died.  But  he  was  naturally  a  bright  and 
ambitious  pupil,  and,  while  working  nights  and  morn 
ings  to  pay  for  his  board,  he  went  to  his  studies  with 
a  freshness  and  earnestness  which  put  him  rapidly 
through  the  lower  classes  of  the  district  school.  Be 
fore  the  winter  was  over  he  was  well  up  with  the 
average  boys  of  his  age,  and  ahead  of  some. 

Meanwhile,  what  had  Farlow  done  to  redeem  his 
pledge  and  take  his  son  out  of  pawn  ? 

About  a  week  after  he  went  away  Phil  received  a 
letter  from  him,  full  of  the  usual  promises.  He 
expected  very  soon  to  be  able  to  pay  his  debt  of  a 
hundred  dollars,  and  provide  a  home  for  them  both. 
In  about  a  month  came  another  of  similar  import, 
containing,  along  with  fresh  promises,  excuses  for 
not  keeping  the  old  ones. 

It  was  winter  before  Phil  heard  from  him  again. 
The  third  letter,  badly  written  on  poor  paper,  was 
brief  and  discouraging. 

"  I  fully  expected  to  strike  a  streak  of  luck  when 
I  last  wrote,  and  to  have  you  with  me  before  this. 
I  have  been  disappointed  ;  but  I  shall  still  be  able  to 
send  for  you  in  a  few  days.  As  I  shall  probably 
leave  this  place  before  a  reply  from  you  could  reach 
me,  you  need  not  write  until  you  hear  from  me 
again." 


58  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

That  was  the  last  letter  from  him  Phil  ever  re 
ceived.  It  was  as  if  his  father  had  been  going  far 
ther  and  farther  from  him,  and  at  last  had  disap 
peared  in  the  dark. 

There  were  other  things  about  his  hotel  life, 
besides  the  hard  work,  which  Phil  did  not  like. 

The  bar-room  was  the  resort  of  tipplers  and  idlers, 
for  whose  company  he  had  conceived  a  strong  dis 
gust.  He  could  not  bear  their  lounging  habits,  stale 
tobacco  smoke,  and  dull  jokes.  His  native  refine 
ment  held  him  aloof  from  them  ;  and  no  doubt  the 
sight  of  his  father's  dissipations  had  helped  to  in 
spire  him  with  a  wholesome  hatred  of  such  things. 

Besides,  he  wished  to  give  his  leisure  hours  that 
winter  to  his  books. 

But  Bass  found  it  convenient  at  times  to  leave 
him  in  charge  of  the  bar.  Even  Sallie  did  not  ob 
ject  to  setting  out  bottle  and  decanter  on  the  coun 
ter  for  the  patrons  of  the  house,  and  receiving  their 
change  with  their  jokes,  and  why  should  he  ? 

But  Phil  made  up  his  mind  early  as  to  one  thing, 
—  he  would  not  taste  strong  drink,  and  he  would  not 
sell  it. 

This  silly  notion  of  his,  as  Bass  called  it,  angered 
that  worthy  man  ;  and  Sallie,  to  save  trouble  between 
them,  tried  to  talk  Phil  out  of  it. 


LIFE    AT  THE   TAVERN.  59 

"  What 's  the  use  o'  your  being  so  awful  odd  and 
offish  ? "  she  argued.  "  A  feller  can't  even  get  you 
to  play  checkers  in  the  evening  lately "  ;  by  a 
"feller"  she  meant  herself,  —  she  was  always  teasing 
him  to  play  checkers  or  cards.  "  What 's  the  use  of 
your  running  to  your  books  every  chance  you  can 
get?  I  should  a  sight  druther  tend  bar,  if  I  was  you." 

"  It  is  n't  simply  my  books  I  care  for,"  Phil  re 
plied  :  "  your  father  is  getting  rich  selling  liquor, 
while  mine  has  been  ruined  by  drinking  it  ;  so  you 
and  I  look  at  the  thing  differently.  I  won't  sell  it, 
and  all  the  world  can't  make  me.  Now  you  under 
stand." 

Fortunately  Sallie  did  understand ;  and,  seeing 
that  he  could  not  be  persuaded  to  yield  to  her  father, 
she  persuaded  her  father  to  yield  to  him. 


6O  PHIL    AND   HIS    FRIENDS. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

A    NEW    SUIT    OF    CLOTHES. 

TN  spring  Phil  left  school.  Then  came  hard  work 
-*-  again. 

Bass  was  preparing  for  a  busy  season.  New 
boarding-houses  were  building  in  the  village,  in 
expectation  of  summer  visitors.  The  character  of 
his  own  house  prevented  it  from  competing  with 
others  in  entertaining  the  better  class  of  boarders  ; 
and  he  had  found  that  his  chances  for  profit  lay  in 
his  bar  and  his  stable  ;  so,  while  others  enlarged 
their  accommodations  for  guests,  he  provided  room 
for  more  horses  by  building  a  new  barn. 

He  had  controlled  the  livery-stable  business  in  the 
village  hitherto,  and  he  meant  to  keep  at  the  head  of 
it  in  future.  He  bought  out  his  principal  competitor 
and  engaged  him  as  a  driver.  With  two  others,  who 
could  not  be  bought  out,  he  made  an  arrangement 
for  keeping  up  prices,  for  their  mutual  advantage. 

"They  had  to  come  to 't,"  Phil  heard  him  say  to 
Lorson,  his  new  man.  "  If  they  had  n't  I  'd  have 
made  it  perty  hot  for  'em,  le'  me  tell  ye !  Summer 


A   NEW    SUIT    OF    CLOTHES.  6l 

boarders  don't  come  but  once  a  year,  and  they  don't 
stay  long,  and  we  must  make  money  out  on  'em 
while  we  can." 

"  That 's  so ! "  said  Lorson  ;  and  indeed  that 
seemed  to  be  the  opinion  of  the  village  people  gen 
erally. 

Bass  was  a  good  sort  of  fellow  in  a  gruff  way.  He 
showed  a  real  liking  for  Phil,  and,  after  the  liquor- 
selling  business  was  settled,  treated  him  with 
friendly  familiarity  and  indulgence. 

"  I  like  the  way  you  take  holt,"  he  said  to  him  one 
day.  "  Ain't  nothin'  surly  about  ye,  and  ye  don't  act 
as  if  ye  was  'fraid  o'  s'ilin'  yer  hands.  I  did  n't  know 
but  what  ye  might  work  in  and  be  a  pardner  o'  mine, 
runnin'  the  business  after  a  while.  Sallie  hinted  it, 
and  I  did  n't  know." 

Phil  colored  very  red.  Sallie  had  already  hinted 
as  much  to  him. 

"  I  'm  afraid  it  would  n't  suit  me,  as  a  permanent 
thing,"  he  replied. 

"I'm  afraid  't  would  n't,  sence  you're  so  sot  agin 
sellin'  at  the  bar.  You  made  a  mistake,  Bub ;  but  I 
concluded  to  let  ye  have  your  way.  You  like  bosses, 
though,  and  I  'xpect  ye  won't  have  no  sich  silly 
notion  agin  drivin'  team  for  summer  boarders  when 
they  come." 


62  PHIL   AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

" Of  course,  I've  no  objection  to  that,"  said  Phil. 

"Ye  shall  have  the  chance,  Bub,"  replied  Bass, 
good-humoredly. 

Phil  was  now  fifteen  years  old,  of  good  size,  and 
well  made.  He  had  outgrown  his  best  suit  of 
clothes,  —  to  say  nothing  of  his  having  worn  them 
out,  —  so  that  his  limbs  had  a  rather  ungainly  look, 
and  his  manners  appeared  awkward ;  but  he  had  a 
fine,  ruddy  face,  frank  and  intelligent,  if  not  very 
handsome,  and  when  he  spoke  or  smiled  it  lighted 
up  with  a  bright  and  engaging  expression  which  won 
him  friends  at  first  sight. 

Summer  visitors  came  early  to  the  village  that 
season,  and  as  a  driver  and  guide  he  became  popular 
with  them  at  once. 

He  not  only  knew  the  fords  and  mountain  roads, 
Cathedral  Woods,  the  Twin  Cascades,  and  other 
noted  places  which  everybody  visited,  but  there  were 
nooks  of  ferns,  curious  rock  formations,  beautiful 
little  waterfalls  and  pools,  which  no  other  teamster 
seemed  to  think  worth  showing,  but  which  Phil 
would  unexpectedly  take  his  parties  to,  always  to 
their  surprise  and  delight.  He  thus  proved  that  an 
obliging  disposition  and  a  love  of  nature  are  not  bad 
qualities  in  a  guide. 

He  became  a  favorite  with  Mrs.  Shedrick's  board- 


A    NEW    SUIT    OF    CLOTHES.  63 

ers  especially.  After  they  had  had  him  a  few,  times, 
they  would  accept  no  other  driver,  preferring  to 
postpone  their  rides  when  Phil  could  not  be  ob 
tained. 

He  enjoyed  this  life  extremely  :  there  was  a 
flavor  of  adventure  about  it.  It  gratified  his  passion 
for  wild  scenes,  for  woods  and  mountain  streams. 
He  liked  the  society  which  it  brought  him  in  contact 
with  ;  and  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  feeling  that  he  was 
earning  as  much  money  for  Bass  as  a  full-grown  man. 

Bass,  too,  was  well  pleased.  He  treated  Phil  with 
great  friendliness,  and  said  to  him  one  day,  "  Ain't 
there  suthin  I  can  do  for  ye,  Bub  ?  I  'd  like  to." 

"Yes,"  Phil  answered;  "stop  calling  me  Bub,  for 
one  thing." 

"  Haw  !  haw  !     Wai,  I  '11  call  ye  Phil  then." 

Phil  said  that  would  suit  him  better. 

"  Wai,  Phil !  Sallie  thinks  you  need  a  new  suit  of 
clo'es,  and  I  d'  n'  know  but  what  you  do.  What  do 
you  think  ?  " 

"  I  think  as  Sallie  thinks,"  said  Phil. 

"  Wai,  come  along  over  to  Minkins's  store." 

A  serviceable  ready-made  suit  was  found,  of  gray 
stuff,  for  which  Bass  paid  the  not  very  extravagant 
sum  of  eleven  dollars.  It  fitted  the  boy  tolerably 
well,  and  was  not  unbecoming. 


64  PHIL   AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

"  Now  you  're  made  !  "  cried  Solomon,  slapping 
him  on  the  shoulder  with  his  fat  hand.  "  Go  home 
and  show  Sal." 

Sal  was  delighted.  "  Pa  done  that  for  me,"  she 
whispered  in  Phil's  ear.  "  You  're  han'some  as  a 
pictur',  and  I  'm  proud  of  you  ! " 

Somehow  these  words  and  the  admiring  eyes  with 
which  she  looked  him  over  —  much  as  if  she  hud 
become  a  shareholder  in  him  and  was  satisfied  with 
her  investment  —  made  him  feel  depressed  and  un 
comfortable  ;  yet  the  thought  of  appearing  before 
Mrs.  Shedrick's  boarders  in  attire  that  was  not  actu 
ally  ridiculous  cheered  him  up. 

But  one  day  a  change  came  over  Sallie  Bass, 

"  Who  was  that  girl  I  saw  riding  on  the  front 
seat  with  you  this  afternoon  ? "  she  demanded,  spite 
fully. 

"That  was  Mrs.  Chadbow's  daughter,"  replied  the 
innocent  Phil.  "  They  are  boarding  at  Mrs.  Shed- 
rick's.  Relatives  of  hers,  I  believe." 

"  You  was  laughing  and  talking  with  her,  so  en 
gaged!  You  didn't  even  look  my  way,  when  I'm 
sure  you  could  n't  help  seeing  me,"  said  Sallie. 

"I  don't  remember."  Phil  regarded  her  wonder- 
ingly.  "Perhaps  I  saw  you.  I  don't  know  why  I 
did  n't  turn  and  —  and  lavish  my  smiles  on  you,"  he 


A   NEW   SUIT   OF   CLOTHES.  65 

added,  trying  to  give  a  humorous  turn  to  the  un 
pleasant  subject. 

"I  know  why,"  cried  Sallie.  "You  think  she's 
jest  awful  sweet  and  perty,  I  know  you  do  ;  though, 
I  must  say,  I  don't  admire  your  taste.  And  you  did 
look  jest  terrible  stuck  up  in  your  new  clo'es.  I 
was  ashamed  of  you  !  " 

"  Why,  Sallie ! "  said  Phil,  surprised,  amused,  pro 
voked,  all  at  once. 

"  Guess  you  forgot  how  you  come  by  'em  ! "  she 
went  on,  in  a  blaze  of  resentment. 

He  wisely  waited  to  let  it  burn  out.  He  had  wit 
nessed  more  than  one  such  outburst  from  her  against 
other  people,  but  never  against  himself.  As  soon  as 
he  saw  her  ready  to  hear  a  word  of  reason,  he  said, 
not  without  spirit,  — 

"  I  supposed  I  had  earned  the  clothes,  or  I  should 
never  have  put  them  on.  You  may  think  you  own  them. 
All  right!  But  there's  one  thing  you  don't  own, — 
that 's  the  boy  inside  of  'em.  And  that  boy,  if  I  know 
him,  —  and  I  rather  think  I  do,  —  that  boy,"  cried  Phil, 
drawing  himself  up,  "is  ready  to  jump  out  and  leave 
you  the  clothes  any  time  you  say.  Shall  it  be  now  ?" 

"  No,"  replied  Sallie,  beginning  to  drop  water  on 
the  fire  ;  that  is  to  say,  beginning  to  cry.  "I  didn't 
mean  that." 


66  PHIL   AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

"  Then  what  did  you  mean  ?  "  Phil  demanded  "  It 's 
my  business  to  take  people  to  ride  ;  and  when  they 
see  fit  to  talk  to  me,  I  should  be  a  dolt  not  to  answer. 
If  they  say  pleasant  things,  I  'm  bound  to  be  pleased, 
and  say  something  agreeable  in  return,  if  I  can.  But 
if  you  think  I  was  any  more  engaged,  as  you  call  it, 
or  stuck  lip,  in  my  new  clothes,  because  it  was  Clara 
Chadbow  talking  to  me  instead  of  her  mother, — or 
any  other  woman,  —  or  any  man,  for  that  matter,  — if 
you  think  that,  you  're  a  bigger  goose  than  I  took  you 
for.  I  always  thought  you  were  a  pretty  bright  girl." 

It  was  Phil's  turn  to  show  resentment,  and  with  a 
stern  brow  he  turned  away. 

"  O  Phil !  "  she  exclaimed,  detaining  him.  "  I  was 
a  goose.  I  was  mad  coz  you  did  n't  look  at  me,  and 
appeared  so  took  up  with  her.  But  —  don't  —  don't 
take  her  on  the  front  seat  again,  will  you  ? " 

"  Well,  you  are!"  he  said,  laughing  contemptuously. 
"  As  if  it  was  any  affair  of  yours  who  sits  on  the  seat 
with  me  ;  or  as  if  I  had  anything  to  say  about  it ! 
Suppose  they  put  Clara  Chadbow  there  again?  Must 
I  say,  '  No  ;  Sallie  Bass  won't  like  that'  ?  Just  fancy !  " 

Sallie  laughed ;  and  so  the  little  thunder-squall 
passed  over. 


THE    BLUE    NECKTIE.  6/ 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  BLUE    NECKTIE. 

AFTER  two  or  three  outbreaks  of  a  similar 
nature,  from  the  same  cause,  in  the  course  of 
the  season,  Sallie  saw  Phil  come  out  one  Sunday 
morning  in  a  new  and  very  becoming  blue  necktie. 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  ?  "  she  sharply  asked. 

"  Some  ladies  I  have  taken  to  ride  a  good  many 
times,  —  I  mean,  a  lady,"  Phil  replied,  seeing  the  dan 
gerous  fire  in  Sallie's  eyes.  "She  said  I  had  been  out 
of  my  way  to  show  her  places  no  other  driver  ever 
thinks  of,  and  to  do  little  errands  for  her,  and  she 
wanted  to  make  me  a  present." 

"  Who  was  it? "  Sallie  inquired,  looking  like  a  pan 
ther  ready  to  spring. 

"  Mrs.  Chadbow,"  Phil  answered. 

"  It  was  n't !  It  was  that  minx,  Clary  !  I  know  it 
was,  even  if  her  mother  did  —  " 

The  violent  words  ceased.  The  panther  sprang. 
Before  Phil  could  defend  himself,  before  even  he  was 
aware  what  was  happening,  the  necktie  was  seized, 


68  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

stripped  from  his  neck,  and  brandished  in  the  air 
above  Sallie's  red  head. 

"  Give  that  back  to  me  ! "  he  commanded,  spring 
ing  to  recover  it. 

"  No,  you  don't !  "  she  cried,  holding  it  behind  her. 
"  I  won't  have  that  saucy  thing  giving  you  presents ! 
I  '11  burn  it  up  !  " 

The  encounter  took  place  near  the  kitchen  door. 
She  started  for  the  fire.  Phil  clutched  her  arm.  She 
merely  changed  hands  with  the  necktie,  whipping  it 
about  her  wrist  and  preparing  for  a  struggle.  She 
was  two  years  older  than  he,  and  her  tomboy  habits 
had  developed  a  youth's  strength  in  her  agile  limbs. 

"It's  none  of  your  business,"  he  said,  "who  gives 
me  presents ;  and  the  idea  of  your  calling  any  girl  a 
saucy  thing !  If  you  don't  give  it  back  to  me  —  if 
you  burn  it  up  —  " 

There  was  a  sudden  sound  of  rending  calico,  as  she 
tore  away  from  him,  leaving  a  good  strip  of  her  sleeve 
in  his  grasp.  The  next  moment  she  shook  off  into 
the  open  stove  the  uncoiling  necktie,  as  if  it  had 
been  a  snake,  and  turned  with  a  wild  laugh  to  con 
front  him. 

He  pushed  her  aside  and  snatched  Mrs.  Chadbow's 
gift  flaming  from  the  coals.  Too  late :  it  was  ruined 
forever. 


1 1  won't  have  that  saucy  thing  giving  yon  presents'     I'll  burn  it  up! '"  [p. 


THE    BLUE    NECKTIE.  69 

"  You  may  have  it  now ! "  she  cried,  with  vindic 
tive  triumph. 

He  gave  it  a  look  full  of  wrath  and  indignation  as 
he  held  it  up,  then  flung  it  on  the  floor. 

"  That 's  enough,  Sallie  Bass  ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  've 
nothing  more  to  do  with  such  a  girl  as  you." 

He  walked  away  without  another  word,  leaving  her 
more  scared  at  his  conduct  and  ashamed  of  her  own 
than  if  he  had  covered  her  with  the  bitterest  re 
proaches.  • 

She  could  not  but  see  that,  whether  there  was 
cause  for  her  jealousy  or  not,  she  was  driving  him 
from  her  by  her  revengeful  spite.  She  picked  up  the 
necktie,  and  looked  ruefully  at  the  holes  which  had 
been  burnt  in  it,  wondering  whether  they  could  be 
mended. 

"  He  did  look  handsome  in  it ! "  she  said  to  herself. 
''  That  's  what  made  me  so  mad.  But  mabby  she 
did  n't  give  it  to  him  ;  Phil 's  a  feller  that  won't 
lie." 

Then  she  reflected  that  the  season  was  nearly  over, 
and  that  Clara  Chadbow,  with  the  other  summer 
boarders,  would  soon  be  gone. 

"  And  out  of  my  way  !  "  she  said.  "  I  'd  ought  to 
Ve  bit  my  tongue  and  kep'  still.  But  I  '11  make  up 
with  him  ;  't  ain't  the  first  time  we  Ve  quarrelled." 


70  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

That  was  true;  but  Phil  meant  that  it  should  be 
the  last.  The  unreasoning  rage  which  resulted  in 
the  burning  of  Mrs.  Chadbow's  beautiful  present  was 
something  he  could  n't  forgive.  So  when  Sallie  that 
afternoon  came  to  the  barn,  where  he  sat  on  a  pile  of 
straw  reading,  he  did  not  deign  to  look  up. 

"I  know  you  're  awful  mad  at  me,"  she  said ;  "and 
I  'm  sorry  I  burnt  the  necktie.  I  don't  know  what 
possessed  me  to  do  it !  " 

Phil  kept  his  eyes  bent  on  his  book.  He  had  worn 
no  necktie  since  she  snatched  that  from  his  throat. 

"  If  you  won't  mind,"  she  went  on,  "  I  '11  buy  you 
another  enough  sight  pertier  'n  that." 

Then  he  looked  up,  and  his  face  was  full  of  scorn 
as  he  replied,  "  Do  you  think  I  care  so  much  for  a 
necktie  ?  I  can  go  without.  And  I  beg  you  not  to 
take  the  trouble  to  buy  me  one.  I  would  never  wear 
it." 

That  was  all  the  consolation  she  could  get  from 
him.  He  went  on  with  his  reading,  not  even  replying 
when  she  spoke  to  him  again.  Then  her  anger  re 
kindled. 

"  I  know  now  !  "  she  cried.  "  You  hate  me !  That 's 
what  you  told  me  once  when  I  was  trying  hard  to  be 
good  to  you.  I  did  n't  want  to  believe  it ;  but  it  has 
been  true  all  the  time.  You've  just  pretended  it 


THE    BLUE    NECKTIE.  /I 

wa'  n't,  for  the  favors  you  thought  you  might  get 
out  of  me.  Oh,  I  detest  such  meanness  ! "  And 
she  swept  into  the  house  before  the  astonished 
Phil  could  open  his  lips  to  repel  the  unjust  taunt 
It  rankled  in  his  heart,  for  he  could  not  bear  that 
any  one  should  have  such  an  opinion  of  him  as  that; 
then,  reflecting  on  her  strange  conduct,  he  was 
forced  to  believe  that  much  of  the  kindness  she  had 
shown  him  had  been  dictated  by  a  selfish  motive,  as 
base  as  that  she  attributed  to  him,  and  he  resolved  to 
go  his  own  way  wholly  independent  of  her  henceforth. 

"  She  may  show  me  favors  or  she  may  show  me 
spite,  purr  or  scratch,"  he  said  to  himself,  "it's  all 
the  same  to  me." 

When  he  met  her  at  breakfast  the  next  morning 
she  was  red-eyed  and  silent,  and  he  felt  an  ominous 
gloom  hanging  over  the  household.  Solomon  was 
silent,  too ;  and  Mrs.  Bass,  a  weak  and  nervous 
woman,  who  was  always  cross  when  Sallie  was, 
appeared  in  her  worst  mood.  Phil  went  about  his 
business  in  the  usual  way,  and  had  got  his  wagon 
washed,  when  a  young  girl  came  into  the  yard. 

"  O  Phil ! "  she  cried.  "  I  have  been  inquiring  for 
you  at  the  house.  Mother  wants  you  to  take  us 
where  we  found  those  lovely  ferns  the  other  day,  as 
soon  as  you  can  get  ready.  You're  not  engaged?" 


/2  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

"  No,"  replied  Phil ;  "  and  I  will  be  ready  in  about 
five  minutes." 

"Then  I  will  wait  and  ride  back  with  you,"  said 
the  girl,  gayly. 

At  that  moment  a  window  over  the  kitchen  was 
shut  with  a  sharp  clash,  followed  by  a  noise  of  rat 
tling  glass.  The  girl  looked  around  surprised :  she 
did  not  know  the  meaning  of  the  sound  ;  but  Phil  did. 

He  was  harnessing  a  horse  to  the  wagon,  and  she 
stood  a  little  way  off  watching  him,  when  Solomon 
Bass  came  out  of  the  house.  He  began  to  assist 
about  fastening  the  traces,  saying  at  the  same  time, — 

"  Whose  order  is  it  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Chadbow's,"  Phil  replied. 

"  Huh !  "  grunted  Solomon.  The  pig-eyes  gave 
Clara  a  glance.  "  Tell  your  mother  I  '11  send  the 
team  over  right  away." 

"  I  'm  going  to  wait  and  ride,"  said  the  smiling 
Clara. 

"  Huh  ! "  Solomon  took  the  gathered  reins  from 
Phil's  hands.  "  Call  Lorson." 

"  Lorson !  "  cried  Phil.  "  Mr.  Bass  wants  you  for 
something." 

"  What  I  want  you  for,"  said  Bass,  as  Lorson  came 
out  of  the  stable,  "  is  to  drive  this  team  for  some 
of  Mis'  Shedrick's  boarders." 


THE    BLUE    NECKTIE.  73 

Phil  had  felt  what  was  coming.  He  almost  gasped 
for  breath  before  he  could  interpose,  saying,  in  as 
quiet  a  tone  as  he  could  command,  — 

"  I  suppose  they  are  expecting  me  to  drive." 

"  Yes,"  spoke  up  Clara  ;  "  we  want  him  to  take  us  to 
a  spot  I  don't  think  anybody  else  shows  to  visitors." 

"  There 's  more  'n  one  driver  in  the  world,"  said 
Bass.  "  Guess  Lorson  knows  as  much  about  places 
as  anybody.  He  has  druv  two  years,  and  Phil  has 
druv  two  months.  Git  in,  if  you  want  to  ride  over." 
He  offered  to  help  Clara  mount  into  the  wagon ; 
but  she  drew  back. 

"  No,  I  thank  you,"  she  replied,  with  maidenly 
dignity.  "If  Phil  can't  go,  I  don't  think  my  mother 
will  want  the  horse." 

"  I  've  something  else  for  Phil  to  do.  —  Phil,"  said 
Bass,  turning  his  red-veined  face  and  pig-eyes  glow 
ering  on  the  boy,  "you  go  in  and  tend  bar  till  you're 
wanted.  Understand  ? " 

"No,  I  don't,"  said  Phil,  in  a  tremor  of  excitement. 
"  You  know  I  don't  tend  bar." 

"  If  you  live  and  I  live,"  Bass  replied,  "  you  '11 
tend  bar  when  I  tell  ye  to.  D'  ye  hear  ? ' 


74  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

THE    CRISIS. 

FOR  a  moment  the  stout  man  and  the  slender  boy 
stood  and  looked  at  each  other. 

Phil  heard  a  derisive  giggle  in  the  direction  of  the 
broken  window.  At  the  same  time  Clara  Chadbow 
turned  upon  him  a  look  of  fright  and  sympathy,  and 
went  hurriedly  away. 

"D'ye  hear?"  Bass  repeated,  not  at  all  liking  the 
expression  of  the  eyes  that  met  his.  The  boyish 
features  were  quivering,  but  the  eyes  were  defiant. 

"I  hear,"  Phil  replied,  and  walked  towards  the 
house. 

"  You  better  !  "  said  Bass.  "  Some  folks  have  got 
a  notion,"  he  continued,  talking  to  Lorson,  "  't 
nobody  can  drive  a  hoss  for  'em  but  that  boy.  I  '11 
let  'em  know!" 

"He'll  be  monopolizing  the  business  'fore  long,  if 
he  keeps  on,"  replied  Lorson.  "  I  've  told  ye  so  'fore 
now." 

He  was  a  great,  slouching  fellow,  —  "slab-sided," 
Sallie  called  him,  —  not  much  liked  by  either  her  or 


THE    CRISIS.  75 

her  father.  Bass  would  have  been  glad  enough  to 
get  rid  of  him  after  buying  him  out,  and  Lorson 
knew  it. 

"Huh  !    You  was  right  for  once,"  said  Solomon. 

"You  said  it  was  my  jealousy,"  Lorson  replied. 
He  turned  his  quid,  screwed  up  one  side  of  his  face, 
and  cast  a  sarcastic  glance  towards  the  broken  win 
dow.  "  Wonder  whose  jealousy  't  is  now  !  " 

"  Mind  your  own  business,  Lorson  !  "  muttered 
Bass.  "Hitch  the  hoss  under  the  shed.  Needn't 
take  him  out  o'  the  shafts.  Somebody  '11  be  wantin' 
him  'fore  long." 

Lorson  took  care  of  the  horse,  while  Bass  went  in 
to  see  how  Phil  was  getting  on  tending  bar. 

Phil  was  not  tending  bar  at  all.  He  had  passed 
quickly  through  the  bar-room,  and  been  last  seen 
mounting  with  a  firm,  quick  step  the  back  stairs. 

Sallie  waylaid  her  father  as  he  was  going  up  after 
him.  She  had  goaded  him  on  thus  far,  and  to  wit 
ness  Phil's  discomfiture  in  Clara  Chadbow's  presence 
had  been  to  her  an  intoxicating  delight.  But  she 
was  beginning  to  relent. 

"  Pa !  pa !  "  she  whispered.  "  He  's  gone  to  his  room. 
Don't  be  too  hard  on  him  now,  or  you'll  lose  him." 

"Lose  him!"  muttered  Bass.  "I  ruther  guess 
not !  Hain't  I  got  him  in  writin'  ? " 


76  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

He  found  Phil  sitting  by  his  garret  window,  full  of 
trouble. 

"  What  ye  'bout  here  ? "  said  Solomon. 

"  I  'm  thinking  what  I  ought  to  do,"  said  Phil. 

"  Wai,  what  d'  ye  conclude  ? 

Taking  a  hint  from  Sal,  Bass  had  deemed  it  wise 
to  begin  in  a  rather  low  tone  with  the  boy,  and,  find 
ing  him  so  quiet,  he  anticipated  an  easy  victory. 

"I  conclude,"  replied  Phil,  "  that  it's  time  for  me 
to  leave  this  house." 

"  Leave !  "  cried  Solomon.  "  But  you  can't  leave 
without  I  say  so  !  What  you  talkin'  'bout  ? " 

"  I  suppose  I  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Phil,  lift 
ing  his  eyes,  tearful  with  passion,  to  the  puffy,  red- 
veined  face.  "  You  think  you  can  hold  me  as  secur 
ity  for  my  father's  debt." 

41  Certain  I  can  !  I  've  got  his  signatewer  to  it. 
If  he  did  n't  pay  me  and  take  you  away  within  a 
month  I  was  to  be  entitled  to  your  services  until  he 
did.  That's  the  way  it  reads.  He  hain't  done  it 
yet,  has  he  ?  And'he  ain't  likely  to  do  it  right  away, 
is  he  ? " 

"  No,  he  is  n't,"  said  Phil,  his  voice  steadying  and 
his  eyes  kindling.  "  I  don't  expect  him  to.  I  be 
lieve  I  have  worked  out  the  debt  myself,  and  you  've 
no  longer  any  claim  on  him  or  me." 


THE   CRISIS.  77 

"  Who  said  you  could  work  out  the  debt  ?  " 

"  Sallie.  She  told  me  she  had  talked  it  over  with 
you." 

"  I  hain't  made  no  agreement,"  said  Solomon, 
doggedly. 

"  You  have  n't  ?"  cried  Phil.  "That  shows  what 
I  Ve  felt  all  along  lately,  —  that  I  ought  to  have  had 
some  understanding  with  you,  something  besides  the 
mere  word  of  a  girl  that  can  change  about  in  a  min 
ute  and  do  the  most  unreasonable  things." 

"  Sallie  has  been  your  best  friend.  Don't  you 
forgit  that." 

Phil  laughed  bitterly.  "  Friend  !  I  went  away  from 
here  once,  and  she  coaxed  me  back,  when  I  ought 
never  to  have  come  back.  It  is  the  worst  place  in 
town  for  a  boy.  You  don't  give  me  any  credit  for 
what  I  have  done.  If  I  had  gone  somewhere  else,  as 
I  intended,  and  worked  half  as  hard  as  I  have  here, 
I  should  have  something  to  show  for  it  now.  Friend  ! 
she  has  been  no  friend  to  me !  " 

"If  you  had  behaved  yourself,  you  don't  know 
what  she  might  have  done  for  you,"  said  Solomon. 

"  I  don't  want  to  know.  She  has  done  enough. 
But  how  have  I  misbehaved  ?" 

"  You  Ve  slighted  her  and  cut  her  up ;  and  Sallie 
ain't  a  girl  to  stand  that." 


?3  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

"  I  've  never  slighted  her,"  Phil  protested.  "  I  've 
just  gone  about  my  business,  earning  money  for  you 
day  after  day.  She  has  n't  any  mortgage  on  me,  even 
if  you  think  you  have.  What  right  had  she  to  tear 
my  necktie  and  burn  it  up  ?  Have  n't  I  a  right  to 
take  a  little  present  like  that  from  a  lady  ?  If  she  'd 
been  a  boy,  I  'd  have  thrashed  her." 

"  Guess  you  'd  rue  the  day  when  you  undertook  to 
thrash  Sal !  "  Bass  grinned  luridly.  "  I  thought  you 
ruther  liked  her." 

"I  liked  her  well  enough,"  Phil  admitted  "As 
well^as  I  'd  have  liked  any  girl  in  her  place,  or,  rather, 
any  boy ;  for  she  was  always  more  like  a  boy  to  me 
than  a  girl.  We  got  along  well  enough  till  she  began 
to  act  so  like  a  lunatic,  tearing  off  neckties  and 
almost  scratching  my  eyes  out." 

"  Huh  !  "  muttered  Solomon.  "  Sal 's  kind  o'  quick, 
I  own  ;  but  you  go  now  and  do  as  I  tell  ye,  and 
treat  her  well,  and  there  won't  be  no  more  trouble." 

"  I  'm  willing  to  work  for  you,  Mr.  Bass,"  said  Phil, 
"  if  I  can  have  a  fair  understanding  about  what  I  'm 
to  do  and  what  I  am  to  earn." 

"  Earn  !  "  echoed  Solomon. 

"  Yes,"  Phil  insisted  ;  "this  is  what  it  has  come  to. 
Give  me  up  that  paper  of  my  father's,  promise  me 
decent  wages  in  future,  and  engage  that  Sal  shall  let 


THE    CRISIS.  79 

my  eyes  and  neckties  alone,  then  I  '11  drive  horse, 
milk  cows,  feed  pigs,  sweep  floors,  do  anything  for 
you,  Mr.  Bass,  except  —  you  know  well  enough  what 
—  I  won't  tend  bar." 

Solomon  had  seated  himself  on  the  bed  and  kept  a 
tolerably  low  tone  till  now. 

"  You  won't,  hey  ?  "  he  cried  in  a  loud,  angry  voice, 
jumping  up.  "You  will!  And  you  won't  git  no 
wages,  not  without  I  see  fit  to  give  'em  to  ye.  I  've 
got  ye  in  writin',  and  I  'm  a-gunter  keep  ye.  I  'm  in 
your  father's  place,  and  I  can  shet  ye  up  if  I  choose, 
or  I  can  whale  ye.  I  '11  do  both  if  ye  try  to  run  away." 

Phil  did  not  answer  for  a  moment.  He  was  very 
pale.  He  rose  to  his  feet. 

"You  don't  know  what  you  are  saying,  Mr.  Bass. 
You  can't  hinder  my  running  away." 

"  You  '11  see.  I  can  turn  the  key  on  ye.  And  if 
you  go,  I  can  fetch  ye  back.  Take  off  them  clo'es 
the  fust  thing,"  Bass  added,  standing  between  Phil 
and  the  door.  "Them  belong  to  me,  any  way." 

"I've  at  least  earned  the  clothes,"  said  Phil. 
"  But  no  matter." 

He  threw  them  quickly  off  and  put  on  his  old,  out 
grown  suit.     The  sense  of  -his  wrongs  become  insup-   I 
portable.     He  shed  tears  of  rage. 

"  Now  when  you  're  ready  to  come  to  terms,  le'  me 


80  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

know,"  said  Solomon,  gathering  up  the  clothes  in 
order  to  carry  them  away. 

"Look  here,  Mr.  Bass!"  said  Phil.  "I  told  you  I 
would  work  for  you  if  you  would  pay  me.  I  take  that 
back.  I  never  will  do  another  stroke  of  work  of  any 
kind  for  a  man  like  you,  nor  stay  in  your  house  a 
minute  after  I  can  get  out.  I  told  you,  and  I  told  my 
father  in  the  beginning,  that  I  wouldn't  stay  to  be 
bound  by  any  such  bargain  as  you  made  with  him. 
I  never  agreed  to  it,  and  I  deny  that  you  have  any 
claim  on  me.  So  you  'd  better  take  care  what  you  do." 

"Huh!"  said  Solomon,  taking  the  key  out  of  the 
door  and  putting  it  into  the  lock  on  the  outside.  "I 
know  what  I  'm  about." 

He  went  out,  the  door  closed,  the  lock  clicked,  and 
Phil  was  shut  up. 


TWO    OF    HIS    FRIENDS.  8l 


CHAPTER   XII. 

TWO    OF    HIS    FRIENDS. 

THE  boy  was  more  angry  than  alarmed. 
"  Stupid  !"  he  exclaimed,  listening  to  the  land 
lord's  retreating  steps.  "To  think  he  can  keep  me 
here  an  hour  after  I  make  up  my  mind  to  get  out !  I 
can  scream  and  bring  help.  Or  I  can  climb  from  the 
window  on  the  roof  and  go  down  the  lightning-rod. 
I  'm  in  no  hurry." 

He  remembered  how  he  ran  off  a  year  before.  He 
did  not  mean  to  go  in  any  such  way  now.  In  courage 
and  self-reliance  he  felt  many  years  older  than  he  was 
then.  He  had  a  few  things  which  he  thought  it 
worth  while  to  take  with  him.  He  was  rolling  them 
up  in  a  bundle,  when  somebody  rapped  lightly  at  the 
door. 

"  Who  's  there  ?  "  cried  Phil. 

"  Me  !  Sallie  !  "  answered  the  whispered  accents  of 
Miss  Bass.  He  made  no  reply.  "  Phil  !  won't  you 
speak  to  me  ?  " 

"  Not   with   the  door   between   us,"   he  answered. 
"  I  am  locked  in." 
6 


82  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

"  If  I  '11  unlock  the  door,  won't  you  try  to  get  away  ? " 

He  hesitated  a  moment  "  Not  while  you  're  here," 
he  said,  at  length. 

The  door  was  partly  opened  and  the  freckled  nose 
and  mouth  valanced  with  large  upper  teeth  appeared. 

"  I  heard  every  word  you  said  about  me  to  pa ;  and 
it  was  jest  awful,  Phil !  "  The  girl  seemed  ready  to 
cry.  "  But  I  '11  forgive  you  if  you  '11  forgive  me.  See 
what  I  've  brought  ye  !  " 

It  was  the  suit  of  clothes  which  Bass  had  taken 
away.  Phil  was  touched. 

"  There 's  something  good  about  you,  after  all, 
Sallie ! " 

"  Oh  !  I  '11  be  jest  awful  good  to  ye,  Phil,  if  you  '11 
let  bygones  be  bygones,  and  stay  and  work  for  pa 
jest  as  you  've  been  doing.  Say  !  will  ye  ?  " 

"  I  can't  agree  to  that,"  said  Phil.  "  A  man  who 
goes  back  on  his  word,  and  still  claims  to  hold  me  in 
writing  after  what  he  promised  you,  and  orders  me 
to  tend  bar,  and  locks  me  up,  and  threatens  to  whale 
me,  —  I'm  through  with  him  !  " 

"Don't  say  that!"  Sallie  entreated.  "I'll  make 
it  right  between  you.  We  've  all  been  mad,  and  said 
things  we  had  n't  oughter." 

"  I  'm  not  mad  now,"  Phil  replied ;  "  and  what  I 
say  I  mean." 


TWO    OF    HIS    FRIENDS.  83 

"  Oh,  no,  Phil !  Think  it  over  !  Shall  I  go  away, 
so  you  can  put  on  your  good  clo'es  again  ? " 

Phil  did  not  intend  to  put  them  on  at  all,  being  un 
willing  that  Bass  should  have  even  so  small  a  claim 
upon  him  as  that;  but  he  thought  it  discreet  to 
answer,  — 

"  I  suppose,  if  you  go,  you  will  turn  the  key  on  me 
again." 

"  No,  I  won't,"  said  Sallie  ;  "  not  if  you  '11  promise 
not  to  run  away." 

"  I  'm  not  going  to  run  away,"  said  Phil.  "  I  may 
go  out  of  the  house,  but  I  promise  not  to  leave  the 
village." 

"  I  know  you  're  a  feller  of  your  word,  Phil,"  said 
Sallie,  sweetly,  as  she  retired,  leaving  the  door  un 
locked. 

Returning  in  a  little  while,  she  was  startled  to  find 
that  he  had  disappeared,  but,  seeing  the  good 
clothes  on  a  chair,  she  said  to  herself,  — 

"He  ain't  gone  fur  without  them  !  He's  a  feller 
of  his  word,  Phil  is  !  " 

As  the  doctor,  who  had  brought  Phil  through  his 
fit  of  sickness  the  year  before,  returned  home  from 
visiting  his  patients  that  morning,  he  met  that  young 
person,  with  a  small  bundle  under  his  arm,  coming 
in  haste  to  his  door. 


84  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

"Well,"  said  he,  inquiringly,  "what's  new  to-day, 
Phil  ?  You  look  excited.  Feverish  ? "  taking  the 
boy  by  the  hand  and  feeling  his  pusle.  "  Get  your 
breath,  and  come  in  and  talk." 

"  Perhaps  I  'm  a  little  excited,"  said  Phil,  as  they 
entered  the  doctor's  office  together ;  "  but  I  don't 
need  any  medicine  :  I  've  come  on  business." 

"  On  business  !  "  the  doctor  repeated,  sitting  down 
and  motioning  him  to  a  chair.  "  Well  ?" 

"  My  father  went  away  a  year  ago,"  said  Phil, 
"  owing  you  some  money  for  attending  on  me  when 
I  was  sick.'* 

"  A  small  sum,"  replied  the  doctor,  with  a  smile. 
"  Never  mind  about  that." 

"  I  'd  rather  mind  about  it,  Dr.  Mower,  if  you 
please."  Phil  played  nervously  with  the  arm  of  the 
big  chair  he  had  sunk  into.  "  I  'd  like  to  work  out 
that  debt,  if  you  have  anything  for  me  to  do." 

"  You  !     Work  it  out !  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  've  always  meant  to  pay  you  in  some 
way,  and  now  I  have  a  chance,  provided  you  have 
anything  for  me  to  do." 

The  amused  smile  with  which  the  doctor  regarded 
him  changed  to  one  of  interest  and  sympathy. 

"I  thought  you  were  at  work  for  Sol  Bass." 

"  I  have  been  till  to-day  ;  but  I  Ve  got   sick  of  the 


TWO    OF    HIS    FRIENDS.  85 

Bass  tribe,  and  I  believe  I  've  worked  out  my  father's 
debt  to  him." 

No  careful  observer  of  symptoms,  like  Dr.  Mower, 
could  fail  to  notice  the  surge  of  feeling  which  the  boy 
was  trying  to  keep  down. 

"  You  're  having  some  trouble.  What  is  it,  Phil  ? 
I  rather  think  you  'd  better  tell  me  all  about  it." 

This  was  said  so  kindly  that  the  boy,  who  had  felt 
himself  utterly  friendless  a  few  minutes  ago,  burst 
into  tears. 

"  That 's  right,"  said  the  doctor,  encouragingly. 
"  Open  the  safety-valve.  There,  my  boy !  Now 
you  're  all  right.  Let 's  hear  about  Sol,  —  or  Sallie,  — 
which  is  it  ?  Sol  or  Sal  ?  " 

Phil  could  not  help  laughing,  even  while  he  stifled 
his  last  sob. 

"  It 's  both,"  he  said.  "  I  'd  like  to  tell  you  all 
about  it,  if  you  will  let  me,  and  get  your  advice." 

"  Well,  begin  at  the  beginning,"  said  Dr.  Mower. 

So  Phil  told  all  about  his  being  pledged  for  his 
father's  debt  to  Bass,  how  he  had  worked  faithfully 
for  a  year  in  the  hope  of  paying  it  off,  and  how  he 
had  just  now  quit  that  thankless  service.  He  did  not 
get  through  without  more  than  one  sob  and  gust  of 
tears. 

The  doctor  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  nodded 


86  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

with  half-shut,  contemplative  eyes ;  then  he  put  a 
few  searching  questions  ;  then  he  said,  in  answer 
to  one  from  Phil,  — 

"  No,  my  boy.  I  don't  think  Bass  has  the  slightest 
claim  on  you,  —  or  ever  had,  for  that  matter.  The' 
paper  he  claims  to  hold  you  by  is  n't  probably  worth 
that"  snapping  his  fingers.  "But  Bass  is  a  dull- 
witted,  obstinate  blockhead,  and  he  may  make  you 
trouble.  I  think  I  'd  better  see  him." 

"  I  wish  you  would,"  said  Phil,  overjoyed.  "And 
if  you  have  something  for  me  to  do  —  " 

"  I  'm  sorry  to  say,"  Dr.  Mower  replied,  "  I  Ve  a 
man  engaged  to  take  care  of  my  horse  and  cow  and 
do  all  my  summer's  work.  But  I  Ve  an  idea  for  you, 
Phil.  You  know  Krennidge,  of  course." 

"  Jo  Krennidge  ? "  said  Phil.  "  The  teamster  ?  I 
see  him  about  every  day." 

"Apply  to  him.  But  go  first  to  Mrs.  Shedrick, 
and  explain  to  her  and  her  boarders  why  you  could  n't 
drive  for  them  this  morning.  Say  you  hope  to  get 
another  place,  and  ask  if  they  will  order  their  teams 
of  Krennidge  provided  he  employs  you." 

Phil's  face  brightened.  "  I  see  !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  I  am  sure  I  can  carry  their  custom  over  to  any  man 
who  has  teams.  They  Ve  been  Bass's  best  patrons." 

"  But  first,  Phil,  you  really  need  better  clothes  for 


TWO    OF    HIS    FRIENDS.  8/ 

whatever  business  you  think  of  trying.  Was  there 
anything  else  to  fit  you  where  Bass  bought  that 
suit?" 

"  Yes  ;  there  was  a  suit  I  liked  even  better,  but  as 
it  cost  a  dollar  more,  he  would  n't  buy  it." 

"  A  dollar  more,"  said  the  doctor.  "That  makes 
twelve  dollars."  He  opened  his  pocket-book.  ""Take 
this,  Phil,  and  go  and  get  into  those  clothes  as  soon 
as  possible." 

"  I  can't  use  your  money,  Dr.  Mower,"  said  Phil, 
with  glistening  eyes. 

"  What 's  the  reason  you  can't  ?  You  '11  pay  me 
some  time, —  and  pay  the  old  debt,  too, —  all  the  sooner 
for  having  a  decent  suit  of  every-day  clothes  to  appear 
in.  Don't  think  7'm  going  to  get  a  mortgage  on  you 
by  the  means.  It 's  just  a  loan.  I  believe  you-  are 
an  honest  boy,  and  I  trust  you." 

"  I  did  n't  think  you  would  talk  to  me  in  this  way. 
I  did  n't  think  anybody  would,"  said  Phil,  with  a 
gulp  of  grateful  emotion. 

"  Now,  go,"  said  the  doctor  ;  "and  come  back  here 
to  dinner.  But  hold  on  !  Here  's  the  man  I  was  to 
see.  All  the  better." 

"  Shall  I  go  ?  "  whispered  Phil,  casting  an  anxious 
glance  from  the  window. 

"  No,  sit  down ;  we  may  as  well  have  it  out  with 


88  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

him  now.  Ah,  come  in  !  Come  in  !  "  cried  the  doc 
tor,  raising  his  voice,  as  the  face  of  Solomon  Bass, 
more  purled  and  empurpled  than  ever  with  haste  and 
rage,  appeared  at  the  open  door. 


MR.    BASS'S   ABSURD    CLAIM.  89 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

MR.    BASS'S    ABSURD    CLAIM. 

"TTUH!"  said   Solomon,  giving  Phil  a  lowering 

-tl   look.  "  You  here,  be  you  ? " 

"  What 's  wanting,  Mr.  Bass  ? "  inquired  the  doctor. 

"  I  want  that  boy,"  growled  Solomon.  "Didn't 
you  tell  Sal  you  would  n't  run  away  ? " 

"  I  have  n't  run  away,  and  I  'm  not  going  to,"  re 
plied  Phil.  "  I  told  her  I  would  n't  leave  the  village, 
and  I  have  n't  left  the  village." 

"Come  along  back  with  me!"  And  Solomon 
advanced  to  lay  hold  of  him. 

"  That 's  another  thing,"  Phil  exclaimed.  "  I  told 
you  I  had  done  with  you,  and  I  meant  it.  Don't  take 
hold  of  me  !  " 

"  Hands  off,  Mr.  Bass,"  said  the  doctor.  "You've 
no  more  right  to  this  boy  than  the  man  in  the  moon." 

"  You  mean  to  say  —  "  began  Bass,  fumbling  in  his 
breast-pocket.  "  Look  a'  this  paper  !  " 

"I've  heard  about  that.  Let  me  see  it."  The 
doctor  took  it  and  examined  the  writing  with  a 


9O  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

curious  smile.  "  You  're  a  stupider  man  than  I 
thought,  Solomon  Bass,  if  ever  you  imagined  such  a 
paper  as  that  worth  the  ink  it  was  written  with." 

"  What 's  the  reason  't  ain't  ?  "   cried  Bass. 

"  In  the  first  place,  it  is  not  in  proper  form,  as  any 
lawyer  will  tell  you.  In  the  next  place,  the  terms  of 
it  are  absurd ;  a  court  would  set  them  aside  at  once. 
A  man  can  apprentice  his  son,  or  bind  him  to  work 
for  another,  under  certain  legal  sanctions ;  but  he 
can't  sell  him  in  this  free  country,  or  pledge  him  as 
security  for  a  debt,  by  giving  any  such  note  of  hand 
as  that.  Farlow  knew  it,  if  you  did  n't.  I  advise 
you  to  burn  that  up,  Solomon,"  —  Dr.  Mower  handed 
back  the  paper,  —  "and  not  expose  your  ignorance 
by  showing  it  to  people." 

"I  am  an  ignorant  man,"  said  Solomon,  "and  I 
don't  know  much  about  what  you  call  legal  sanctums. 
But  that  paper  is  plain  enough  for  a  fool  to  under 
stand.  It  was  wrote  by  the  boy's  own  father,  and  it 
gives  him  to  me  till  the  hundred  dollars  is  paid. 
That 's  all  I  know,  and  that 's  all  I  care  for.  Come 
along,  I  tell  ye  !  " 

He  grasped  Phil's  collar.  Phil  clung  to  the  chair. 
The  doctor  advanced  and  laid  his  hand  firmly  on 
Sol's  wrist. 

"  If  you  commit  an  assault  on  this  boy,  Solomon 


MR.    BASS  S    ABSURD    CLAIM.  QI 

Bass,  I  '11  have  you  prosecuted.  If  you  think  you 
have  a  right  to  him,  there  's  only  one  way  to  enforce 
it,  — appeal  to  the  law,  don't  break  the  law." 

"  Think  I  'm  going  to  give  up  my  claim  ? "  cried 
Bass. 

He  loosened  his  hold  on  Phil  and  turned  on  the 
doctor,  who  answered  with  cool  deliberation.  "I 
rather  —  think  —  you  are.  You  Ve  somebody  besides 
a  boy  to  deal  with  now,  you  Ve  a  man,  —  name  Dr. 
Mower,  —  pretty  well  known  in  these  parts.  Phil  has 
placed  himself  under  my  protection,  and  I  give  you 
fair  warning,  that  if  you  lay  violent  hands  on  him 
again  I  '11  have  a  warrant  out  for  you  so  suddenly  it 
will  make  your  head  swim." 

"  I  '11  have  my  rights,  in  spite  of  you  !  "  roared  Sol 
omon,  "  if  I  have  to  go  to  law." 

"That's  just  what  I  advise  you  to  do,"  said  the 
doctor.  "  But  the  law  's  a  double-edged  tool.  Try 
it  with  him,  and  I  '11  try  it  with  you.  I  '11  have  my 
self  appointed  his  guardian,  and  sue  you  for  his  wages 
the  past  year." 

"  Sue  me  —  for  his  wages  ? "  stuttered  Sol,  amazed. 

"Precisely.  He  more  than  paid  his  board  by 
working  for  you  during  the  three  months  he  went  to 
school,  and  he  has  done  almost  a  man's  labor  the  rest 
of  the  time.  He  was  under  no  obligation  to  work 


Q2  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

out  his  father's  debt,  and  you  owe  him  a  hundred 
dollars." 

This  view  of  the  case  seemed  to  stagger  Mr.  Bass. 

oo 

Phil  listened  with  thrills  of  joy  while  the  doctor 
went  on  :  — 

"  Even  if  that  was  a  legal  agreement  between  you 
and  his  father,  the  court  would  set  it  aside,  on  the 
ground  that  yours  is  no  fit  place  for  such  a  boy. 
How  much  money  has  he  actually  paid  out  for  you, 
Phil?" 

"  Besides  the  suit  of  clothes  he  gave  me  and  then 
took  away  again,  he  has  just  bought  me  this  pair  of 
shoes,"  —  Phil  put  out  his  feet,  —  "  that  cost  three 
dollars.  Everything  else  I  have  has  been  picked  up 
one  way  or  another, — given  me  by  boarders,  or  bought 
with  money  given  me  by  people  I  Ve  taken  to  ride." 

"  I  see  !  And  you  have  n't  been  able  to  keep  all  the 
neckties  that  have  been  given  you,  either,"  said  the 
doctor,  with  a  smile.  "  You  see  how  it  is,  Bass." 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  should  interfere  in  my  busi 
ness,"  replied  Sol,  rolling  from  one  leg  to  the  other 
excitedly.  "Anyhow,"  shaking  his  fist  at  Phil,  "you 
better  come  with  me  'thout  more  fuss.  You'll  be 
sorry  if  ye  don't.  I  '11  foller  ye  up,  I  '11  dog  ye,  I  '11  have 
my  money's  wuth  out  of  ye  somehow.  Will  ye 
come  ? " 


MR.    BASS  S    ABSURD    CLAIM.  93 

As  Phil  firmly  and  respectfully  declined  this  not 
very  tempting  invitation,  Bass  went  off  mumbling 
revengefully. 

"We've  a  numbskull  to  deal  with,"  remarked  the 
doctor,  "  and  we  must  look  out  for  him.  Don't  go  on 
the  street  till  he  is  well  out  of  the  way.  Let  him 
get  over  his  mad  fit." 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  should  do,  if  it  was  n't  for 
you  ! "  Phil  exclaimed,  in  another  outburst  of  grati 
tude.  "  Would  you  really  sue  him  for  my  wages  ? " 

The  doctor  laughed.  "  I  don't  know.  It 's  well 
enough  for  him  to  think  so." 

"  If  he  would  only  accept  my  work  in  payment 
of  my  father's  debt,  that 's  all  I  would  ask,"  said 
Phil. 

"  But  he  does  n't  accept  it.  He  still  has  an  idea 
that  he  owns  you,  and  I  don't  quite  see  how  we  are 
to  beat  that  out  of  his  head.  It  might  have  saved 
trouble,"  Dr.  Mower  continued,  with  his  face  in  hu 
morous  wrinkles,  "if  you  had  been  contented  to  re 
main  Sallie's  pet,  marry  her  in  four  or  five  years,  and 
go  into  partnership  with  her  pa.  How  would  that 
have  suited  you  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  "  Phil  ejaculated,  with  a  shuddering  laugh. 
"  It  was  ever  so  long  before  I  would  believe  that  was 
their  plan." 


94  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

"  Sallie  *s  a  smart  girl,  and  it  seems  to  be  a  good 
business,"  chuckled  the  doctor.  "  Many  a  boy  would 
have  jumped  at  the  chance." 

"  I  'm  not  that  sort  of  a  boy,"  said  Phil,  his  excite 
ment  passing  off  in  good-humor.  "If  there  was 
millions  in  the  business,  and  Sallie  was  six  or  seven 
times  as  smart  and  sixty  or  seventy  times  as  pretty, 
I  should  make  the  same  choice.  I  should  say,  '  No,  I 
thank  ye !  Not  any  on  my  plate,  if  you  please  ! ' " 


THAT    SUIT    OF    CLOTHES.  9$ 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

THAT    SUIT    OF    CLOTHES. 

HAVING  given  Bass  time  to  get  home  and  cool 
off  a  little,  Phil  started  out  to  buy  the  new 
clothes. 

To  his  surprise,  he  saw  in  the  distance  Bass  going 
away  from  Mr.  Minkins's  store.  But  Bass  did  not 
see  Phil.  He  went  off  homeward,  shaking  his 
head  belligerently,  watched  by  the  smiling  Mr.  Min- 
kins  from  his  porch. 

The  worthy  man  had  not  ceased  to  smile  when 
he  saw  Phil  approach.  "  Hallo  !  "  he  said.  "  What 's 
the  row  'tween  you  and  Bass  ? " 

"  Oh,  we  could  n't  agree."  An  idea  occurred  to 
Phil,  and  he  proceeded  :  "  I  believe  I  've  worked 
out  my  father's  debt  to  him,  and  when  you've 
something  for  me  to  do,  Mr.  Minkins,  I  '11  work 
out  his  debt  to  you." 

"  Sho  !  "  said  Minkins,  interested.  "  I  sha'n't 
object  when  I  have  a  job  some  time.  Don't  ye 
want  to  buy  a  suit  o'  clo'es  ? " 


96  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

This  question  and  a  peculiar  quirk  about  the 
Minkins  mouth  piqued  Phil's  curiosity.  Although 
he  had  come  for  the  express  purpose  of  buying 
the  twelve-dollar  suit,  he  answered,  carelessly,  — 

"  I  d'n'  know.     Why  ?  " 

"I've  got  just  the  suit  you  want.  Le'  me 
show  ye." 

So  saying,  the  storekeeper  took  from  the  counter 
behind  him,  and  held  up  to  view,  a  coat  and  pair 
of  trousers,  the  sight  of  which  astonished  Phil 
very  much  indeed. 

"Just  like  the  other,"  he  began.  "  No  ! "  he 
exclaimed.  "  By  George,  Mr.  Minkins  !  did  Bass 
just  bring  them  in?" 

"  Not  ten  minutes  'fore  you  come,"  laughed 
Minkins.  "  And  the  maddest  man  he  was,  ever 
you  did  see.  '  Here !  take  these  clo'es  back,'  says 
he,  'and  'low  me  what  ye  can  for  'em.'  'What! 
don't  they  suit  Phil  ? '  says  I.  '  Suit  him  or  not,' 
says  he,  '  Phil  sha'n't  have  'em  ;  that 's  all  there  is 
'bout  that.'  I  see  he  was  terrible  techy,  but  I 
could  n't  help  givin'  him  a  little  rub  about  his 
tomboy,  to  pay  'em  off  for  her  sass.  'Better  keep 
'em  for  Sal,'  says  I.  '  Why  not  ? '  '  None  o'  your 
jokes  with  me  now! '  says  he.  '  I  'm  riled  !  Will 
ye  take  the  clo'es  ?  And  what  '11  ye  'low  me  ? 


'He  answered  her  smile  with  one  of  boy 
ish  pride  und  good-nature  "  [p.  99]. 


grasped  Phil's  collar"  [p.  90]. 


THAT    SUIT    OF    CLOTHES.  97 

Cost  'leven  dollars  on'y  little  while  ago.'  '  But, 
they  've  been  wore,  and  that  makes  'em  nothin' 
more'n  a  secon'-hand  suit,'  says  I.  'Can't  sell  a 
secon'-hand  suit,  don't  care  how  good,  for  half  price.' 
He  haggled  a  spell ;  finally  he  said,  '  Wai,  I  don't 
care  !  It 's  better  'n  seein'  Phil  ever  have  'em  on 
ag'in  ! ' ' 

"  Phil  never  wanted  to  have  'em  on  again !  "  said 
Phil,  with  a  rueful  sort  of  laugh.  "  I  'm  sick  of 
everything  that  reminds  me  of  Sallie  and  her  pa." 

"  Sho  !  "  replied  the  storekeeper.  "  It  '11  be  a 
good  joke  on  Bass,  if  you're  seen  a  wearin'  on  'em, 
after  all.  Think  of  his  throwin'  'em  right  into 
your  face,  as  't  were  !  " 

"  Besides,"  laughed  Phil,  "  it 's  a  second-hand 
suit,  as  you  say,  —  nobody  wants  to  pay  much  for 
a  second-hand  suit." 

"  You  need  n't  pay  much,"  said  Minkins.  "  You 
may  have  'em  for  jest  what  I  agreed  to  low  ^Bass." 

"  How  much  is  that  ?  " 

"  Five  dollars,  —  if  I  can't  get  more." 

"  I  '11  take  'em,"  said  Phil,  promptly. 

So  he  had  the  pleasure  of  carrying  back  to  the 

doctor,  with  the  clothes,  seven  dollars  of  the  doctor's 

money.     He  was  in  high  glee.     "  I  'd  rather  have  had 

a  new  suit,  that  Sal  and  her  pa  had  never  had  any- 

7 


98  PHIL   AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

thing  to  do  with,"  he  said,  "but  I  can't  afford  to  in 
dulge  in  luxuries." 

The  doctor  gave  an  amused  chuckle.  "Well," 
he  said,  showing  Phil  into  a  back  room,  "  get  in 
side  the  clothes,  then  outside  a  slice  of  corned 
beef,  which  is  waiting  for  you,  and  we  '11  see  what 
we  can  do  next." 

After  dinner  Phil  went  with  great  diffidence  to 
show  himself  at  Mrs.  Shedrick's  boarding-house. 
He  was  ashamed  to  meet  Clara,  after  the  scene 
she  had  witnessed  in  the  morning,  and  yet  he  was 
anxious  to  let  her  know  that  Bass  had  not  triumphed 
over  him. 

As  he  was  entering  the  yard,  he  saw  her  going 
with  a  book  to  a  hammock  swung  under  some 
trees  near  the  house.  He  had,  like  many  a  sen 
sitive,  timid  nature,  a  great  deal  of  latent  courage, 
which  could  be  drawn  upon  in  an  emergency.  He 
now  drew  upon  it,  and  walked  up  to  her. 

"  Oh  ! "  she  exclaimed,  with  a  look  of  surprise  and 
interest.  "  How  do  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  am  still  alive,"  Phil  blushingly  replied. 

She  had  a  frank,  sweet,  confiding  face,  upon 
which  dawned  a  smile  of  mingled  sympathy  and 
mischief,  as  she  rejoined,  — 

"  Have  you  got  through  tending  bar  ?  " 


THAT    SUIT    OF    CLOTHES.  99 

Phil  grew  more  and  more  confident.  He  answered 
her  smile  with  one  of  boyish  pride  and  good-nature, 
as  he  said,  — 

"  I  have  n't  tended  bar  very  much.  I  never  sold 
a  glass  of  liquor  yet,  and  I  never  will,  —  and  Bass 
knew  it." 

"  What  did  he  give  you  such  an  order  for,  then  ? " 

"  It  would  be  a  long  story,  and  a  funny  story, 
to  explain  that." 

Phil's  face  expressed  even  more  than  his  words. 
Clara's  curiosity  was  excited. 

"  Oh,  tell  it !  Here  's  mamma  !  O  mamma  !  " 
she  cried,  "  Phil  did  n't  tend  bar  this  morning, 
and  he  has  a  funny  story  to  tell  about  it." 

He  turned  and  met  Mrs.  Chadbow  bringing  a 
camp-stool  to  the  shade  of  the  trees.  His  first 
honest  impulse  was  to  tell  the  whole  strange  history 
of  his  present  situation ;  yet  he  shrank  from  expos 
ing  his  father's  weakness  and  dishonesty  of  char 
acter.  He  shrank,  also,  he  hardly  knew  why,  from 
betraying — for  it  seemed  to  him  that  it  would  be 
betraying  —  the  amazing  folly  of  Miss  Bass's  con 
duct. 

In  seeking  the  doctor's  counsel  and  assistance, 
he  could  talk  seriously  of  Sallie's  partiality  for  him, 
and  of  her  fearful  fits  of  anger ;  but  how  could  he 


IOO  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

here  and  now  confess  that  it  was  her  preposterous 
jealousy  of  Clara  and  her  fury  at  sight  of  the 
necktie  which  had  caused  a  catastrophe  in  his  life 
and  fortunes  ? 

That  sense  of  honor  which  belongs  to  true  manly 
natures  taught  Phil  at  fifteen  that  a  certain  loyalty 
was  due  even  to  a  selfish  and  ridiculous  passion, 
which  he  had  never  encouraged  and  could  not 
respect. 

So  he  answered,  after  some  hesitation,  — 

"  I  could  n't  tell  half  !  All  I  Ve  come  to  say  now, 
Mrs.  Chadbow,  is,  that  I  have  left  Mr.  Bass,  and  to 
ask  if  you  would  still  like  to  have  me  drive  for 
you,  if  I  can  get  another  place,  which  I  am  thinking 
of." 

"  I  don't  know  why  not,"  Mrs.  Chadbow  replied, 
regarding  him  with  a  sort  of  motherly  concern. 
"  I  'm  glad  you  Ve  left  that  man.  Where  are  you 
going  now  ? " 

"  I  have  n't  decided.  I  hope  Mr.  Krennidge  will 
give  me  a  chance  to  drive,  if  you  will  order  your 
teams  of  him.  But  I  must  find  a  place  to  live." 

"  Why  not  come  here  ?  "  the  lady  inquired. 

"  Oh,  I  could  n't  afford  that  !  "  said  Phil.  "  That 
is,  not  unless  Mrs.  Shedrick  can  give  me  some 
thing  to  do  towards  paying  my  board." 


THAT   SUIT   OF 

Thereupon  Clara  spoke  up  with  enthusiasm,  — 
"  Why,    mamma,    how    strange !         She    has  said 
two  or  three  times   lately    that  she   ought   to   have 
a  young  man  about  the  place,  and  that  she  would  n't 
begin  another  season  without  one." 

"I  believe  you  are  just  the  boy  she  wants,"  said 
the  mother,  benignantly.  "  I  '11  speak  to  her  about 
you.  Meanwhile,  go  and  see  this  Krennidge,  and 
if  he  will  hire  you,  and  you  can  get  a  horse  and 
two-seated  wagon  for  this  afternoon,  bring  them 
back  with  you." 


,1   v    :  PM,   AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

NEW    HOPE    AND    A    NEW    HOME. 

PHIL  started  off  filled  with  happiness  and  hope  at 
the  kindness  of  these  friends  and  his  bright 
ening  prospects. 

He  found  Krennidge  at  his  stable,  waiting  for 
cu&tom. 

"  How  's  business  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Fair  to  middlin',"  said  Krennidge,  picking  up 
a  water-pail. 

"  Don't  you  want  to  hire  a  man  ? "  Phil  inquired. 

"  Can't  say  as  I  do,"  replied  the  teamster,  walk 
ing  to  a  pump  in  the  yard.  "  Where  's  the  man  ?  " 

"Well,  a  boy,  then,"  said  Phil.  "I  am  the 
boy." 

Krennidge  had  begun  to  pump,  but  he  stopped 
and  looked  at  him  with  fresh  interest. 

"  I  thought  you  was  drivin'  for  Bass." 

"So  I  was;  but  I  have  left  him.  Some  of  his 
customers  have  left  him,  too;  and  they'll  order 


NEW    HOPE    AND    A    NEW    HOME.  IO3 

their  teams  of  you,  if  you'll  give  me  a  chance  to 
drive  for  'em.  They  want  a  horse  this  afternoon." 

This  was  touching  Krennidge  in  a  tender  spot. 
He  had  noticed,  not  without  concern,  that  Phil, 
boy  as  he  was,  seemed  to  have  more  constant  em 
ployment  than  any  other  driver ;  and  the  idea  of 
obtaining,  through  him,  some  of  Bass's  flourishing 
business  was  a  great  temptation. 

"  Season  'bout  over,  —  don'  know  as  I  want  to 
hire,  anyway,  —  can't  say  for  sure.  Of  course,"  he 
concluded,  "if  you  can  bring  me  orders,  I  can 
mabby  'ford  to  take  ye.  How  much  do  ye  want  ? " 

"  A  dollar  a  day,"  said  Phil,  courageously. 

"A  dollar  a  day,  for  a  boy  like  you  !  "  exclaimed 
Krennidge.  "  Ruther  guess  not !  "  and  he  returned 
to  his  pumping. 

"Very  well,"  cried  Phil,  independently.  "Then 
I  '11  go  and  see  Scoville." 

As  Scoville  was  the  other  teamster,  doing  a  small 
business  of  his  own,  Krennidge  dropped  the  pump- 
handle  again  with  remarkable  alertness  and  called 
the  boy  back. 

"  Look  a-here  !  Tell  ye  what  I  '11  do  !  I  '11  give 
ye  a  dollar  a  day  as  long  as  there's  business. 
When  there  ain't  none,  I  won't  give  ye  noth'n'. 
How's  that?" 


IO4  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

"That's  all  right,"  replied  Phil,  more  delighted 
than  he  dared  to  show.  "Now  give  me  that  brown 
horse  of  yours  for  this  afternoon,  and  your  easiest 
two-seated  wagon." 

The  horse  was  quickly  harnessed,  and  he  had 
the  proud  pleasure  of  driving  up  again  to  Mrs. 
Shedrick's  piazza  steps  and  waiting  for  the  ladies. 

While  he  was  waiting,  Mrs.  Shedrick  came  out 
and  spoke  to  him.  As  some  of  her  boarders  had 
gone,  she  could  give  him  a  room  ;  and  would  he 
really  like  to  come  there,  and  get  wood  and  water 
and  do  other  chores,  by  way  of  paying  for  his  board  ? 

"It's  just  what  I  would  like  !  "  exclaimed  Phil. 

She  was  a  kind,  elderly  lady,  with  a  pale,  amiable, 
care-worn  face.  Phil  had  always  liked  her ;  she 
liked  Phil ;  and  it  took  but  a  short  time  for  them 
to  form  an  agreement  to  their  mutual  satisfaction. 
He  was  to  come  back  there  that  night  and  make 
his  home  with  her,  —  at  least  as  long  as  her  boarders 
remained. 

Then  came  Mrs.  Chadbow  and  her  daughter  and 
another  lady.  Phil  stepped  into  the  wagon  after 
them,  and  drove  off,  with  Clara  by  his  side. 

"Lucky  they  don't  know  anything  of  Sallie's 
jealousy!"  he  said  to  himself.  "Like  enough  they 
wouldn't  let  her  ride  with  me,  if  they  did." 


NEW  HOPE  AND  A  NEW  HOME.         IO5 

He  was  very  happy.  A  sense  of  newly  found 
freedom,  the  prospect  of  a  home  and  a  better  life, 
added  to  the  charm  of  the  company  he  was  in, 
filled  him  with  a  joy  he  could  hardly  contain. 

The  weather  was  fine.  He  took  the  ladies  to  the 
great  woods  and  their  lovely  undergrowth  of  ferns, 
which  he  had  been  the  first  to  show  to  visitors, 
stopping  by  the  way  at  more  than  one  waterfall  and 
pool,  or  hillside  commanding  mountain  views.  Then 
came  another  exciting  moment  of  triumph,  —  on  the 
road  homeward. 

Having  crossed  Thunder  Brook  bridge,  he  drove 
through  the  village,  passed  Bass's  hotel,  and  was 
conscious  of  being  seen  sitting  once  more  beside 
the  pretty  Clara,  dressed  in  the  suit  which  had 
been  taken  from  him  that  morning,  and  driving  for 
Krennidge  instead  of  Bass. 

Yet  the  sensation  was  hardly  that  of  triumph : 
Phil  was  too  good-hearted  a  boy  to  wish  to  make 
his  worst  enemy  feel  as  he  knew  Solomon  and 
Sallie  felt  then. 

It  was  with  a  deep  sigh  of  relief  and  peace  that 
he  entered  the  comfortable  little  room  Mrs.  Shed- 
rick  gave  him  that  evening,  and  said  to  himself, 
"  Now  I  am  at  home." 

He  had  plenty  to  do  now  besides  driving  for  Kren- 


IO6  PHIL   AND   HIS   FRIENDS. 

nidge  when  he  had  a  chance,  his  willingness,  his 
quick  perception,  and  his  experience  of  hotel  work 
making  him  a  very  useful  chore-boy  at  the  boarding- 
house.  Besides  assisting  Mrs.  Shedrick,  he  did  er 
rands  for  the  boarders,  and  brought  from  the  woods 
beautiful  sheets  of  birch  bark,  which  he  made  into 
baskets  for  the  ferns  he  had  helped  the  ladies  gather. 

"  It 's  too  pleasant  to  last  long,  I  'm  afraid,"  he  said 
to  the  doctor,  who  asked  him  one  day  how  he  liked 
his  new  life. 

Indeed,  one  part  of  it  was  destined  to  come  to  an 
abrupt  conclusion. 


BASS  S    REVENGE.  IO/ 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

BASS'S    REVENGE. 

PHIL  had  noticed  for  two  or  three  days  something 
not  quite  open  and  friendly  in  the  treatment  he 
received  from  Krennidge,  and  when  on  Saturday 
afternoon  he  ventured  to  speak  to  him  of  wages  due, 
he  got  an  ominously  glum  reply. 

"  Don'  know 's  I  owe  ye  anything ;  Bass  says  I 
don't." 

"How  so?"  Phil  asked,  changing  color.  "What 
has  he  to  say  about  it  ?  " 

"  A  good  deal,  you  'd  fancy,  by  the  way  he  talks," 
answered  the. teamster.  "  He  says  I've  no  right  to 
hire  ye :  you  belong  to  him ;  and  if  you  earn  wages, 
the  wages  belong  to  him." 

Phil  was  dumb  for  a  moment  with  astonishment 
and  indignation. 

"  Well,"  he  exclaimed,  at  length,  "  are  you  your 
own  man,  or  Bass's  ?  Are  you  going  to  do  as  you 
said,  or  as  he  says  ? " 

"'T  ain't     the       question,"      replied     Krennidge, 


IO8  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

"whuther  I'm  Bass's  man,  but  whuther  you're 
Bass's  boy." 

"  That  question  's  decided  fast  enough  !  "  cried 
Phil. 

"  You  may  think  it  is,  but  he  claims  it  ain't.  I 
s'pose  I  shall  do  as  I  said,  fur  as  your  work  this 
\veek  goes.  I  '11  pay  you,  even  if  I  have  to  pay  him 
over  again  :  you  've  brought  me  some  business, 
and  I  'd  like  to  have  ye  as  long  as  business  holds 
out?;  but  I  can't  pay  you  and  Bass  too.  I  ca'c'late 
I  owe  ye  four  dollars  for  this  week,"  —  Krennidge 
took  out  his  pocket-book, —  "  but  I  can't  continner 
the  arrangement  any  longer,  without  you  first  come 
to  some  sort  of  agreement  with  Bass." 

"Very "well!"  said  Phil,  firm,  but  excited,  as  he 
took  the  money.  "  If  you  're  afraid  of  Sol  Bass,  I  'm 
sorry  ;  I  thought  you  were  a  bigger  man." 

"  'T  won't  do  no  good  for  you  to  .twit  me  that 
way,"  said  Krennidge,  as  he  returned  his  pocket- 
book  to  his  pantaloons.  "  Whuther  I'm  afraid  or 
not,  I  know  my  own  business,  and  't  won't  pay,  for 
the  sake  of  a  few  dollars  at  the  close  of  a  season,  to 
have  a  dispute  and  hard  feelin's  with  Sol  Bass." 

"I  suppose  you  are  right,"  Phil  rejoined,  after  a 
pause,  swallowing  a  lump  in  his  throat ;  "  but  it 's 
hard." 


BASS  S    REVENGE.  IOQ 

"  Kind  o',  I  allow,"  said  Krennidge  ;  "  but  it  can't 
be  helped." 

"Then  I  am  through  with  you  ?"  Phil  asked,  turn 
ing  reluctantly  away. 

"  I  guess  you  be,"  was  the  response,  —  "  without 
you  're  willin '  to  do  the  work  and  let  Bass  draw  the 
wages." 

Phil  laughed  bitterly  as  he  walked  out  of  the  yard. 

"  Lucky  there 's  another  teamster  in  town,"  he 
said  to  himself,  and  proceeded  straight  to  ScovnTe's 
stable. 

He  did  not  much  like  the  proprietor's  manner 
towards  him  when  he  presented  himself.  He  liked 
still  less  the  reply  he  received  to  his  offer  of  services. 

"  Perhaps  you  've  heard,"  said  Scoville,  "  there 's  a 
man  in  town  of  the  name  of  Sol  Bass." 

"  He  has  been  here  before  me  !  "  exclaimed  Phil. 

"  I  won't  deny  but  what  I  Ve  seen  him  one  or  two 
times  since  you  Ve  been  driving  for  Krennidge.  As 
to  hiring  you  after  you  Ve  left  them,  it  won't  do,  you 
see.  I  can't  afford  to  have  any  trouble  with  Sol 
Bass."  So  saying,  Scoville  cut  off  all  chance  for  further 
arguing  the  question  by  walking  into  his  house.  Phil 
gazed  after  him  a  moment,  with  hot  and  violent 
words  struggling  up  from  his  heart.  But  he  closed 
his  lips  against  them,  and  went  away. 


110  PHIL   AND   HIS   FRIENDS. 

He  was  partly  consoled  for  these  disappointments 
by  the  thought  that  the  close  of  the  season  was  at 
hand,  and  that  the  occupation  of  the  drivers  would 
be  over  very  soon. 

Then  came  the  miserable  reflection  that,  with 
other  summer  boarders,  Clara  and  her  mother  would 
be  going  away  too,  perhaps  never  to  return,  or  be 
seen  by  him  again. 

His  rides  with  them  were  not  quite  over  yet,  how 
ever.  Even  while  he  was  telling  his  story  at  the  board 
ing-house,  and  Mrs.  Shedrick  and  the  boarders  were 
exclaiming  indignantly  against  the  injustice  he  had 
suffered,  a  two-seated  buckboard  drawn  by  one  horse 
drove  up  to  the  door. 

It  carried  three  travellers,  one  of  whom  Mrs.  Shed- 
rick  knew.  He  had  been  "  buckboarding  "  with  his 
companions  through  the  mountains.  They  were  now 
returning  from  their  trip,  and  he  wished  to  know  if 
she  could  keep  them  over  Sunday. 

"I  can  keep  you,"  she  said.  "Come  in,  and  Phil 
here  will  take  your  horse  around  to  one  of  the 
stables." 

Weary  with  their  day's  jaunt,  they  got  down  and 
gave  the  reins  to  Phil,  with  some  directions  about 
the  care  of  the  jaded  beast.  The  boy  did  not  like 
the  idea  of  patronizing  either  of  the  stables,  after 


BASS  S    REVENGE.  Ill 

all  that  had  happened  to  disgust  him  with  the  pro 
prietors. 

"I  can  do  better  than  that,"  he  said.  "There's 
Mr  Marshall's  barn.  He  will  let  me  put  the  horse 
in  that." 

Mr.  Marshal]  was  a  neighbor.  His  barn  was  near 
by.  The  stalls  were  empty,  and  there  was  room  for 
the  buckboard. 

"Certainly,"  said  Mrs.  Shedrick ;  "and  there  is 
all  that  hay  you  cut  in  making  the  new  croquet- 
ground." 

"  If  there  is  n't  enough,  I  can  get  more,  — and  oats, 
too,"  said  Phil. 

The  horse  was  accordingly  put  up  in  the  neigh 
boring  barn,  Phil  acting  as  ostler. 

"  I  like  the  looks  of  that  boy  ;  who  is  he  ? "  said  Mr. 
Ellerton,  the  owner  of  the  animal. 

So  Phil's  story  had  to  be  told.  Then  it  turned  out 
that  the  gentlemen  were  tired  of  buckboarding,  and 
anxious  to  return  to  their  homes  and  business. 

"  My  two  friends  will  take  the  stage  Monday 
morning,"  said  Mr.  Ellerton,  "and  I  would  go  with 
them  if  I  could  get  rid  of  my  team.  Do  you  think  I 
can  sell  it,  or  find  somebody  here  to  keep  the  horse 
for  me  till  spring  ?  " 

"  We  are  going  to  remain  a  week  or  two  longer," 


I  14  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

"  Oh,  won't  it  be  fine,  if  you  have  a  horse  of  your 
own  !  "  cried  the  sympathetic  Clara. 

"  If  I  was  rich,"  said  her  mother,  "  I  would  make 
you  a  present  of  him." 

"  I  don't  want  anybody  to  make  me  a  present  of 
him,"  replied  Phil.  "I  just  want  a  chance  to  buy 
him.  See  here,  Mrs.  Shedrick,  it's  a  chance  for  you 
to  make  some  money.  Help  me  buy  the  horse,  — - 
you  can  manage  it  if  you  will,  —  and  we  will  share 
together  the  profit  that  can  be  made  out  of  him  next 
season." 

"  Oh,  I  could  n't  bear  to  take  the  responsibility  !  " 
the  kind-hearted  but  timid  landlady  replied.  "  And 
I  advise  you  not  to.  What  if  he  should  die  ? " 

"  Every  man  who  buys  an  animal  has  to  take  that 
risk,"  said  Phil. 

He  was  so  full  of  the  idea  that  he  had  to  go  down 
and  talk  with  his  friend  the  doctor  about  it.  The 
doctor  listened  with  half-shut,  contemplative  eyes» 
and  nodded  approvingly. 

"It  looks  like  a  first-rate  chance  for  you,"  he  said. 
"  I  '11  step  up  and  see  Mrs.  Shedrick  and  Mr.Ellerton, 
if  you  like,  and  speak  a  little  word  in  your  favor." 

"  Oh,  if  you  only  will  !  It 's  a  splendid  horse  and 
the  nicest  buckboard  !  " 

Phil  had  already,  in  the  new  hope  that  possessed 


BROWNIE  AND  THE  BUCKBOARD.        I  15 

him,  gone  to  the  barn  two  or  three  times  and  looked 
the  animal  proudly  over,  and  examined  the  vehicle 
admiringly,  as  if  they  were  already  his  own.  The 
doctor  now  went  up  with  him  and  looked  at  them, 
saying  encouragingly,  "  Really,  it  looks  as  if  it  was 
just  the  thing  for  you,  Phil." 

Mr.  Ellerton  had  become  interested  in  the  boy, 
and  was  well  prepared  to  hear  what  the  doctor  had 
to  say  of  him. 

"  I  think  myself,"  -  he  replied,  "  the  team  in  his 
hands  can  be  made  to  pay  for  itself  in  a  little  while. 
The  trouble  will  be  in  keeping  the  horse  through  the 
winter.  If  you,  doctor,  will  assume  a  little  responsi 
bility  in  the  matter,  and  see  that  he  is  well  fed, 
I  don't  object  to  leaving  him.  I  paid  two  hundred 
and  sixty-five  dollars  for  horse,  harness,  and  buck- 
board  when  I  started  with  them,  and  it  was  consid 
ered  a  bargain.  They  cost  the  former  owner  three 
hundred,  and  he  had  used  them  but  a  short  time. 
Now,  if  the  boy  can  pay  me  two  hundred  and  twenty- 
dollars  in  nine  or  ten  months,  they  shall  be  his.  I 
only  ask  that  you  and  Mrs.  Shedrick  will  see  that  I 
have  my  property  back  again  if  I  don't  have  the 
money." 

"I  advise,"  remarked  the  doctor,  "that  the  prop 
erty  still  remain  in  your  or  Mrs.  Shedrick's  name, 


Il6  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

and  that  Phil  keep  his  plans  a  secret  for  the  present. 
He  understands  why.  But  two  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  dollars,  Mr.  Ellerton,  is  a  good  deal  of  money  for 
him  to  raise." 

Both  looked  at  the  boy's  anxiously  hopeful  face, 
as  he  stood  by  and  awaited  what  seemed  to  him  a 
decision  of  his  fate. 

"  It  is  a  good  deal  of  money  for  him"  said  Mr. 
Ellerton,  with  a  smile  ;  "and  I  don't  mind.  I'll  make 
it  a  round  two  hundred.  You  can't  find  any  fault 
with  that." 

"  No  fault  at  all ;  it  is  very  liberal,"  said  the 
doctor.  "  I  know  the  boy,  and  I  am  confident  that, 
with  health  and  any  sort  of  decent  luck,  he  will  pay 
you,  and  have  the  horse  and  buckboard  free  of  all 
indebtedness,  within  a  year.  I  think  Mrs.  Shedrick 
made  a  mistake  in  not  taking  a  share  in  the  enter 
prise.  But  all  the  better  for  him." 

So  Mr.  Ellerton  and  his  two  friends  went  off  by 
the  stage-coach  on  Monday,  and  the  horse  antl  buck- 
board  were  left  behind. 

Phil  had  something  now  to  console  him  for  his  mis 
fortunes.  He  could  even  contemplate  with  serenity 
the  near  departure  of  Clara  and  her  mother  with 
the  remaining  boarders,  —  for  did  he  not  have  his 
"team"? 


BROWNIE  AND  THE  BUCKBOARD.        1 1/ 

That  was  what  he  called  it ;  that  is  what  a  great 
many  people,  who  probably  know  better,  call  a  horse 
and  wagon.  Even  Clara  Chadbow,  who  was  quite  well 
educated  for  a  girl  of  fourteen,  would  speak  of  getting 
into  the  team,  when  she  meant  getting  into  the  wagon, 
careless  of  the  fact  that  it  takes  more  than  one 
animal  to  make  a  team,  and  that  the  wagon  is  no 
part  of  it. 

Every  minute  he  could  spare  from  his  other  occu 
pations  Phil  now  spent  with  Brownie,  for  that  was 
the  horse's  name,  suggested  by  the  color  of  his  coat. 
He  delighted  to  feed  and  water  him,  to  rub  him 
down  in  the  morning,  and  to  bed  him  down  at  night ; 
then  he  would  look  in  on  him  at  odd  spells,  just 
to  gladden  his  heart  by  the  sight  of  him.  Brownie 
was  the  last  thing  in  his  thoughts  before  he  went  to 
sleep  and  always  the  first  thing  when  he  awoke,  to 
say  nothing  of  his  excited  dreams. 

The  ''team"  was  useful,  too.  The  ladies  went  to 
ride  oftener  than  ever ,  —  oftener  than  they  really 
cared  to,  I  suspect,  so  desirous  were  they  of  helping 
Phil  pay  for  the  hay  the  horse  would  eat  during  the 
winter. 

I  am  afraid  his  head  was  just  a  little  turned.  He 
believed  his  future  was  assured ;  and  with  Brownie's 
reins  in  hand,  Clara  by  his  side,  and  the  supple  buck- 


Il8  PHIL   AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

board  rocking  lightly  over  the  rough  roads,  he  was 
very  nearly  the  happiest  boy  in  the  world. 

He  wanted  everybody  to  know  it  was  his  team  ; 
yet  he  was  discreet. 

"Whose  hoss  is  that  you're  a  drivin'  now?"  store 
keeper  Minkins  asked  him  one  day.  "  And  that 
springboard  ?" 

"  It  's  just  a  team  one  of  Mrs.  Shedrick's  old 
boarders  left  with  her  the  other  day  when  he  had  to 
hurry  back  to  town,"  Phil  replied.  "I'm  taking  care 
of  it  for  the  present." 

"I  like  that  kind  of  a  waggin,"  said  Minkins. 
"No  box  in  the  way  ;  jest  a  long,  teterin' board  twixt 
the  fore  and  hind  wheels ;  wide  seats,  easy  to  git  in 
and  out  of.  Seems  to  me  it's  jest  the  sort  of  thing 
our  teamsters  here  'd  ought  to  have.  I  bet  they  'd 
be  pop'lar." 

"Think  so  ?"  responded  Phil,  with  a  sober  counte 
nance  and  secret  glee. 

"  I  told  Sol  Bass  so,"  Minkins  resumed.  "  But  he 
made  all  sorts  of  fun,  in  his  way,  —  it's  a  kin'  of 
savage  way,  —  of  you  and  your  borrowed  spring 
board.  He  hates  you,  Phil." 

"Does  he?"  said  Phil,  coolly.  "He'll  hate  me 
more  yet,  maybe,  before  he  gets  through.  He 's 
welcome ! " 


THE    NEW    PROJECT.  IK) 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

THE    NEW    PROJECT. 

"TT  THEN  the  boarders  were  gone,  and  teaming  for 
*  ^  the  season  was  over  at  last,  Phil  found  that 
he  had  saved  money  enough  to  buy  a  load  of  hay, 
which  was  soon  safely  housed  in  Mr.  Marshall's  barn 
for  Brownie  during  the  winter.  Brownie  was  at 
the  same  time  turned  out  to  get  his  own  living  for 
a  while,  at  a  small  expense,  in  Mr.  Marshall's  pas 
ture.  There  had  been  late  summer  and  early  fall 
rains,  and  the  grass  was  green. 

Mrs.  Shedrick  had  not  much  for  Phil  to  do  now ; 
but  she  had  become  attached  to  him.  She  was 
lonely  in  her  large,  empty  house,  and  she  was  glad 
to  keep  him  with  her,  for  future  help  and  present 
company. 

Winter  would  have  been  a  dull  season  for  him,  if 
he  had  been  idle,  —  but  he  was  not  one  of  the  idle 
sort. 

From  the  first  of  October  he  had  the  care  of  Dr. 
Mower's  horse  and  cow  and  wood-pile,  at  a  dollar 


I2O  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

and  a  quarter  a  week,  which  the  doctor  insisted  on 
paying  in  cash,  leaving  the  old  debt  to  the  indefinite 
future. 

Then,  besides  doing  Mrs.  Shedrick's  errands  and 
attending  to  her  fires,  he  had  his  own  horse  to  feed, 
keep  clean,  and  exercise  in  fine  weather.  When  the 
roads  were  bare,  he  used  the  buckboard,  often  giving 
good  Mrs.  Shedrick  a  ride,  or  picking  up  some  vil 
lage  boys  he  knew.  When  the  snow  was  deep,  he 
went  on  horseback,  using  a  blanket  for  a  saddle. 

They  were  happy  days.  How  thankful  he  was  to 
be  away  from  that  dreadful  tavern !  He  did  not 
often  meet  the  tomboy.  When  he  did,  she  gave  him 
very  spiteful  looks,  —  if  she  looked  at  him  at  all,  — 
and  no  words  passed  between  them. 

He  did  not  go  to  school,  but  procured  books  and 
pursued  his  studies  at  home,  helped  by  good  Mrs. 
Shedrick,  who  had  been  a  school-teacher  before  a 
disastrous  marriage  wrecked  her  youth  and  stranded 
her  in  a  summer  boarding-house. 

There  was  a  peculiar  tie  of  sympathy  between 
them  :  she  was  a  deserted  wife,  he  was  a  forsaken 
son  :  and  many  a  bright  hour  they  passed  together 
over  his  books  or  in  confidential  talk,  by  the  winter 
fire,  while  the  storms  raged  without. 

In    spring,   a  new  project.     Four  or  five  times  a 


THE   NEW   PROJECT.  121 

week  he  would  go  off,  sometimes  on  foot  and  some 
times  on  his  buckboard,  and  be  gone  half  a  day  at  a 
time,  among  the  gorges  or  on  the  crags  of  Blue 
Mountain. 

As  he  commonly  brought  home  a  string  of  trout, 
these  trips  excited  little  attention.  So  much  the 
greater,  then,  was  the  surprise  of  people  in  general, 
and  the  wrath  of  Solomon  Bass  in  particular,  when 
his  plan  became  known. 

Mr.  Minkins  was  one  of  the  first  in  the  village  to 
find  it  out. 

"  That 's  a  cur'us  boy,"  said  an  old  farmer  from 
the  mountain,  named  Page,  warming  his  shins  in  the 
store  one  bleak  April  day.  "Cur'us  feller, — that 
one  with  the  springboard." 

"You  mean  Phil  Farlow  ?  What's  he  up  to 
now  ? "  asked  the  genial  storekeeper. 

"Hanged  if  I  can  jest  make  out.  Fust  place,  he 
comes  to  me  and  wants  to  git  the  run  o'  my  upper 
pastur'  for  the  summer,  and  the  right  to  cross  my 
land.  'T  ain't  much  of  a  pastur',  —  more  rocks  than 
sile,  an'  more  stunted  briers  an'  huckleberry-bushes, 
nuff  sight,  than  they  is  grass  ;  but  I  let  my  sheep 
nibble  there. 

"'That's  all  it's  good  fer,'  says  I.  'What  do  ye 
want  on  't  ? ' 


122  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

" '  I  want  to  take  my  hoss  there  once  in  a  while/ 
says  he.  *  'T  won't  interfere  with  your  sheep ;  only, 
I  don't  want  ye  to  'low  no  other  hoss  there/  says 
he.  An'  hanged  if  he  did  n't  agree  to  pay  me  five 
dollars." 

"Funny!"  said  Minkins.  "'T ain't  no  sort  of  a 
decent  pastur'  for  a  hoss,  say  nothin'  'bout  it 's  bein' 
so  fur  out  of  the  way.  But  that  boy  ain't  no  fool. 
He 's  deep.  He 's  got  some  notion  in  his  head. 
What  do  ye  think  'tis?" 

"Fust,  I  was  jealous  'twas  a  gold  mine.  But  I 
watched  him,  and  I  could  n't  see  nary  sign  of  his 
sarchin'  fer  gold  at  all.  He  gener'ly  goes  with  his 
springboard,  drivin'  'crost  my  lots  to  the  pastur',  an' 
keepin'  on  to  the  woods  beyend,  where  there 's  an 
old  ox-team  track.  It's  an  awful  hard  road,  but  that 
boy  keeps  to  work  on  't,  gittin'  the  stuns  out  o'  the 
way  and  fillin'  the  holes  and  gullies,  till  hanged  if  he 
hain't  got  a  track  he  can  haul  his  springboard  over 
slick  enough.  One  wheel 's  over  a  rock  an'  out  o' 
the  way  'fore  t'  other  gits  along,  —  an'  the  thing  don't 
git  wrenched  like  a  common  wagon.  But,  as  you 
say,  what  can  be  the  feller's  notion  ? " 

"Don't  you  see?"  cried  Minkins.  "Why,  it's  as 
plain  as  day.  He 's  hired  your  pastur'  so 's  he  can 
control  the  travel,  and  git  pay  for  the  work  he's 


THE    NEW    PROJECT.  123 

layin'  out  on  the  road.  Till  now,  folks  have  had  to 
walk  about  a  mile  'n'  a  half  to  git  to  the  top  of 
Ol'  Blue,  —  but  Phil  means  to  haul  'em  up." 

"  I  du  say  !    If  I  ain't  clean  beat  !  "  exclaimed  the 
farmer. 


124  PHIL  AND   H1S   FRIENDS. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

PHIL'S  INVITATION. 

AMONG  the  earliest  summer  boarders  that 
season  came  Mrs.  Chadbow  and  her  daughter. 
Great  was  the  satisfaction  of  the  good  landlady  in 
welcoming  them  to  their  old  rooms  again;  greater 
still,  if  possible,  the  joy  of  Phil. 

They  had  some  eager  questions  to  ask  about  his 
prospects,  and  were  glad  to  learn  that  he  had  managed 
to  keep  Brownie  in  good  condition  during  the  winter. 

"  You  shall  see !  you  shall  try  him  to-morrow ! " 
he  gayly  promised  them.  "  It 's  my  invitation,  under 
stand.  I  am  going  to  take  you  where  you  Ve  never 
been  yet." 

He  had  grown  perceptibly  since  they  last  saw  him  ; 
and  the  expression  of  his  eyes,  the  tones  of  voice,  the 
frank  manliness  of  his  yet  boyish  manners,  —  every 
thing  about  him  showed  that  his  life  had  been  pure 
and  his  aspirations  high.  How  quickly  you  can  tell, 
often  by  a  glance  even,  whether  a  youth  has  low 


PHIL'S  INVITATION.  125 

associates  and  idle  ways,  or  good  habits  and  worthy 
aims. 

To  be  sure,  he  had  his  faults.  An  amiable  self- 
conceit  was  one  of  them.  He  had  come  to  have  a 
vast  deal  of  confidence  in  his  own  judgment  and 
enterprise,  and  he  sometimes  expressed  his  opinions 
and  told  his  plans  in  a  way  that  made  his  friends 
smile.  Perhaps  the  possession  of  a  horse  and  a 
buck-wagon  had  not  been  the  best  thing  for  him  in 
that  respect. 

But  Clara  and  her  mamma  could  not  blame  him 
for  appearing  somewhat  elated  when  he  brought  his 
"team  "  around  to  the  door  the  next  day. 

Brownie's  spirited  mien  and  glossy  coat  showed 
the  excellent  care  he  had  had  ;  the  buckboard  fairly 
shone  in  its  polished  cleanliness,  —  and  where  was 
there  a  handsomer  young  driver  ? 

With  Mrs.  Shedrick  and  Mrs.  Chadbow  on  the 
back  seat,  and  Clara  by  his  side,  he  drove  off,  pass 
ing  through  the  village,  crossing  Thunder  Brook 
bridge  and  taking  the  mountain  road. 

The  month  was  June,  the  weather  was  cool,  the 
air  was  clear ;  and  the  sight  of  the  leaping  brooks, 
the  woods  in  their  early  summer  foliage,  and  the 
beautiful  mountains  they  had  been  away  from  so 
long,  filled  Clara  with  girlish  delight  and  her  mother 


126  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

with  a  hardly  less  lively  enthusiasm.  Of  course,  their 
pleasure  was  a  fresh  joy  for  Phil. 

Higher  and  higher  they  ascended  the  rude 
mountain  road,  until,  on  reaching  a  farm-yard, 
Brownie,  of  his  own  accord,  turned  in.  Evidently 
he  had  been  there  before.  Walking  up  to  a  gate 
on  the  farther  side,  he  stopped,  and  waited  for 
Phil  to  alight  and  open  it ;  then  entered  a  lane 
beyond,  stopping  again  for  his  young  master,  as  if  he 
had  done  the  same  thing  twenty  times  before. 

"  Where  are  you  taking  us  ? "  cried  Clara,  as  they 
rode  on  up  the  lane,  which  was  long,  and  bordered  by 
loose  stone  walls  and  banks  of  raspberry-bushes  and 
elders.  "  Is  n't  it  charming  !  " 

"  And  see  what  views  are  opening  behind  us,'* 
said  her  mother.  "  This  was  a  bright  idea  in  you, 
Phil. " 

"  You  have  n't  seen  everything  yet,"  the  proud 
young  driver  replied,  touching  up  his  horse. 

At  the  end  of  the  lane  he  opened  another  gate; 
then  came  the  high,  wild,  rocky  sheep  pasture. 

"  Why,  Phil  !  "  exclaimed  the  timid  landlady.  "  You 
never  can  get  safely  over  these  ledges  in  this 
world!" 

"You'll  see,"  he  laughed.  "Now  just  watch 
Brownie  :  he  knows  the  way." 


127 

They  were  all  interested  to  note  how  carefully  and 
sagaciously  the  animal  picked  out  his  course,  through 
hollows,  around  rocks,  and  over  the  tops  of  gran 
ite-shouldered  hills.  Occasionally  he  stopped  to 
breathe,  —  or  was  it  to  let  the  ladies  enjoy  the 
mountain  views  at  the  most  favorable  points  of  their 
ascent  ? 

Phil  walked  much  of  the  way ;  and  Clara  got  down 
and  walked  with  him  where  the  ledges  were  steep 
and  rough.  At  length  he  said,  as  they  reached  the 
woods  on  the  upper  side  of  the  pasture,  — 

"  We  '11  stop  here,  and  give  Brownie  a  good  rest ; 
and,  if  any  of  you  want  a  bit  of  an  adventure,  just 
come  with  me." 

Mrs.  Shedrick  preferred  to  remain  with  the  wagon  ; 
but  Clara  and  her  mother  knew  too  well  what  Phil's 
little  adventures  usually  were  on  such  excursions 
not  to  accept  the  offered  chance. 

He  took  them  into  the  woods,  but,  instead  of 
ascending  farther,  they  soon  began  to  descend  into 
what  seemed  a  chasm  choked  with  thickets  below. 
By  the  use  of  spade  and  hatchet  here  and  there  he 
had  cleared  a  very  good  path,  and  shaped  necessary 
footholds  among  the  roots  and  rocks. 

"  Hark ! "  he  said,  suddenly  halting  and  holding 
up  his  hand. 


128  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

"  Water ! "  exclaimed  Clara,  as  the  music  of  a  tor 
rent  reached  their  ears. 

They  soon  escaped  from  the  thickets  and  stood 
upon  the  margin  of  what  appeared  a  cataract  of 
stones,  which  a  touch  might  at  any  moment  set 
tumbling  down  into  the  gorge.  These  stones  ex 
tended  for  two  or  three  hundred  feet  up  the  moun 
tain-side,  and  then  disappeared  in  scattered  growths 
of  poplars  and  birches,  which  had  found  footing 
amongst  them. 

Below  was  a  beetling  cliff,  which,  as  they  found 
on  reaching  it,  hung  dizzily  over  the  gorge. 

"This  is  a  wonderful  spot  !"  said  Mrs.  Chadbow. 
"  How  did  you  ever  find  it  ?  " 

"  By  following  the  stream  up  into  the  gorge,"  re 
plied  Phil.  "  There  are  pools  and  cascades  all  up 
through  here  ;  and  just  below  where  we  stand  there 
is  a  great  cavern  under  the  cliff.  Will  you  go  down 
to  it  ?  I  Ve  got  a  path  through  the  undergrowth." 

"  I  '11  stay  here,"  said  Mrs.  Chadbow.  "  Clara 
may  go." 

Phil  took  the  girl's  hand,  stepping  carefully  down 
before  and  showing  her  where  to  put  her  feet. 

"  There  '11  be  a  better-worn  path  here,  as  well  as  a 
better  track  for  the  buckboard  up  there,  before  the 
season  is  over,"  he  said,  "  or  I  shall  miss  my  guess." 


PHILS    INVITATION. 

They  disappeared  among  the  saplings  and  pres 
ently  stood  at  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  where  he  had 
once  stood  with  Sallie  Bass.  He  looked  at  Clara  as 
he  had  looked  at  Sallie  then.  What  a  difference  be 
tween  the  two  girls!  And  what  a  difference  in  his 
life  now  ! 

How  long  ago  it  seemed  since  he  ate  his  broiled 
trout  in  the  woods  that  morning,  and  crawled  into  the 
cavern  to  rest  !  And  yet  it  was  less  than  two  years. 

Clara,  too,  was  much  inclined  to  freckles,  —  but 
somehow  Phil  thought  freckles  pretty  enough  now. 

"O  mam  ma!"  cried  the  girl;  "it  is  a  wonderful 
cavern :  you  must  come  down  and  see  it." 

Phil  scrambled  up  over  the  rocks  and  through  the 
thickets,  and  presently  returned,  helping  the  mother 
down  as  he  had  helped  the  daughter  before. 

"  O  Mrs.  Shedrick !  "  said  Clara,  when  at  length 
they  went  back  to  the  landlady  and  the  buck-wagon, 
"  you  don't  know  what  you  have  missed  !  We  have 
seen  the  wildest  gorge,  with  the  brook  tumbling 
through  it  ;  and  such  a  cavern  !  I  have  named  it 
'Phil's  Cavern,'  —  and  I  am  going  to  tell  everybody 
about  it." 

"You  are  the  prince  of  guides,  Phil,"  said  Mrs. 
Chadbow,  mounting  to  her  seat  again.  "  Now  do  we 
go  home  ? " 

9 


I3O  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

"  Not  yet,"  laughed  Phil.  "  What  you  have  seen 
is  only  a  side-show.  We  have  come  a  little  out  of  our 
way  to  get  at  it,  but  we  shall  soon  be  in  the  main 
track  again." 

He  kept  an  upward  course  along  the  edge  of  the 
woods,  and  after  a  short  drive  came  to  an  open 
ing  which  could  not  be  seen  until  just  before  they 
entered  it. 

"  Why,  here  's  a  regular  road  !  "  exclaimed  Clara. 

"  It  is  an  old  ox-track,  used  a  long  while  ago  for 
hauling  wood.  I  Ve  laid  out  work  on  it  this  spring, 
I  tell  you  !  "  cried  Phil  with  satisfaction.  "  Brownie 
has  been  over  it  a  good  many  times,  but  never  before 
with  a  load." 

"  What  pleasant  woods ! "  said  Mrs.  Chaldbow. 
"This  must  be  taking  us  near  the  summit." 

"  It  is  to  the  summit  we  are  going,"  replied  Phil. 

"  To  the  summit  of  Blue  Mountain  !  O  mamma  !  " 
And  Clara  clapped  her  hands. 

"  Phil,  this  is  almost  too  much  happiness  for  one 
day,"  said  her  mother;  while  Mrs.  Shedrick,  who 
alone  had  known  what  a  surprise  he  had  prepared  for 
them,  smiled  upon  him  as  if  he  had  been  her  own  son. 

Up,  up  went  the  road,  the  buckboard  undulating 
over  the  inequalities  and  roots  like  a  boat  pitching 
on  the  waves  of  a  swelling  sea.  Sometimes  a  wheel 


PHILS    INVITATION.  131 

almost  grazed  one  of  the  slender  stems  of  birch  or 
maple,  and  now  the  heavy  boughs  of  a  pine-tree 
swept  low  just  above  their  heads.  Partridges  flew 
up  from  the  path,  and  squirrels  chattered  from  the 
limbs.  It  was  all  a'  secondary  growth  of  timber; 
but  even  this  dwindled  as  they  advanced,  until  only 
stunted  firs,  their  dwarfish  trunks  hoary  with  lichens 
and  moss,  clung  to  the  rocky  slope.  Through  these 
Phil  had  found  or  made  a  way  after  the  old  ox-track 
had  disappeared ;  but  a  broken  terrace  of  ledges  had 
stopped  him  at  last. 

"  Now  we  Ve  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  climb  :  the 
team  can  go  no  farther  this  year,"  he  said,  when  they 
reached  that  spot.  "  It  is  easy  for  the  feet,  though 
it  would  be  too  hard  for  wheels." 

Clara  was  the  first  to  emerge  from  amidst  the  last 
straggling  firs  and  utter  cries  of  rapture  at  the  won 
derful,  blue,  billowy  world  outspread  around. 

"  Phil ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Chadbow,  as  he  helped 
her  up  over  the  rocks  after  Clara,  "  this  is  almost 
equal  to  Mount  Washington.  And  to  think  you  are 
the  first  of  all  the  drivers  and  guides  to  bring  a  party 
here  on  wheels  !  " 

"That's  because  they  are  such  stupid  fellows," 
replied  Phil,  with  his  little  air  of  pleasant  self-conceit, 
which  implied  "all  except  me." 


132  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

PHIL'S    CAVERN    AND    THE    SUMMIT. 

T)HIL  did  not  miss  his  guess  at  all  about  the 
-*•  track  to  the  Summit  becoming  well  worn  before 
the  season  was  over.  This  first  excursion  was  much 
talked  of,  and  it  was  not  three  days  before  he  had 
another  party  to  conduct  to  Phil's  Cavern  and  the 
top  of  old  Blue. 

Clara,  who  had  named  the  cave,  also  named  the 
vehicle.  She  was  helping  Phil  one  evening  write 
some  notices  to  be  pinned  up  at  the  post-office  and 
all  the  boarding-houses,  except  Bass's  hotel,  when 
she  asked, — 

"  What  are  you  going  to  call  it  ?  You  ought  to 
get  a  taking  name.  Oh,  I  have  it !  The  Blue 
Mountain  Buckboard!"  And  she  wrote,  putting 
some  of  his  own  phrases  in  a  new  form  :  — 

"TRY   THE   BLUE   MOUNTAIN  BUCKBOARD. 

"  The  easiest  riding  wagon  in  town.  To  all  places  of  popular 
resort,  especially  to  the  new  points  of  interest,  Phil's  Cavern  and 
Blue  Mountain  Summit.  Prices  reasonable. 

"  Ajiply   to  PHIL    FARLOW, 

"AT  MRS.  SHEDRICK'S." 


PHILS    CAVERN    AND    THE    SUMMIT.  133 

"  How's  that  ?"  she  said,  triumphantly.  "How 
am  I  for  a  man  of  business  ?  " 

"  Capital  ! "  replied  Phil,  laughing  and  blushing. 
"But  I  never  can  post  up  my  own  name  in  that 
way,  —  Phil's  Cavern!" 

"But  you  must!"  Clara  insisted.  "That's  the 
name  of  it,  and  that 's  what  you  must  call  it  in  the 
notices.  You  must  n't  be  too  modest." 

"I?  Too  modest?"  he  queried.  "I  thought  I 
heard  a  girl  about  your  size  hint  something  quite  the 
reverse  the  other  day." 

"  Did  I  ?  Well,  you  are  really  modest,  Phil,  I 
think,"  she  replied,  laughing ;  "  although  you  are 
rather  conceited.  What  do  you  say  ? "  dipping  her 
pen  again. 

"All  right,  if  you  think  so,"  replied  Phil,  whose 
vanity  was  really  tickled  by  the  proposal,  and  who  did 
not  care  how  prominent  his  name  was  in  the  notices, 
if  she  would  approve  and  write  them.  So  copies  were 
made  and  posted ;  and  soon  the  Blue  Mountain  Buck- 
board  and  the  Blue  Mountain  Driver  —  it  is  not  cer 
tain  who  first  gave  the  name  to  him  —  were  the  most 
popular  vehicle  and  teamster  in  town. 

The  drive  to  the  Summit  and  Phil's  Cavern  be 
came  fashionable.  As  he  had  also  his  share  of  the 
driving  in  other  directions,  Phil  within  a  month 


134  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

found  himself  in  the  enjoyment  of  all  the  busi 
ness  he  and  his  buckboard  could  do,  —  or,  rather, 
all  that  he  was  willing  that  Brownie  should  do. 
He  might  often  have  made  a  dollar  a  day  more 
than  he  did  if  he  had  been  less  merciful  to  his 
horse. 

"I  could  stand  it,"  he  would  say,  "but  Brownie 
has  done  enough.  I  won't  overwork  him." 

The  manner  in  which  Bass  and  the  other  team 
sters  had  combined  to  keep  up  the  prices  proved  a 
good  thing  for  the  young  competitor.  Where  he 
thought  them  too  high,  he  did  not  mind  carrying  pas 
sengers  for  less  than  the  old  rates,  making  terms  to 
suit  occasions.  For  instance,  the  fare  to  the  Twin 
Cascades  and  back  had  hitherto  been  seventy-five 
cents  ;  and  it  made  no  difference  whether  the  wagon 
conveyed  two  persons  or  ten.  If  Phil  took  but  two 
persons,  he  would  charge  them  full  fare.  But  if  he 
took  five  or  six, — which  his  buckboard  could  carry 
comfortably  over  good  roads,  —  he  would  charge  only 
three  dollars  or  three  dollars  and  a  half  for  the  whole 
party.  As  he  would  sometimes  make  two  or  three 
such  trips  a  day,  he  felt  that  he  was  doing  well 
enough  with  one  horse. 

He  would  never  take  more  than  two  or  three  at  a 
time,  however,  to  the  Summit ;  and  for  those  he  inva- 


PHIL'S    CAVERN    AND    THE    SUMMIT.  135 

riably  charged  a  dollar  and  a  half  apiece.  "  It 's  so 
hard  on  the  horse,"  he  would  say. 

He  could  not  help  bragging  a  little.  "  You  '11  see 
prices  lower  still,"  he  indiscreetly  said  to  some 
body,  "  when  I  've  got  my  team  paid  for,  and  am  able 
to  put  one  or  two  more  teams  on  the  road." 

That  somebody  repeated  the  remark  to  somebody 
else,  who  told  Scoville,  who  told  Krennidge,  who 
told  Lorson,  who  told  Bass. 

Great  was  the  indignation  of  those  worthies.  Bass, 
particularly,  who  had  been  as  angry  all  along  at  Phil's 
success  as  an  unreasoning,  brutal  sort  of  man  could 
well  be,  was  now  more  infuriated  then  ever  against 
him,  and  he  used  Phil's  foolish  remark  like  a  fire 
brand  held  at  the  noses  of  the  rest. 

"Think  of  his  comin'  in  and  cuttin'  under  us  in 
this  way !  The  boy  that  by  good  rights  belongs  to 
me,  with  all  his  work  and  wages !  Who  put  him  into 
the  way  o'  drivin'  ?  Who  but  Sol  Bass,  I  'd  like  to 
know  ?  And  now  see  the  airs  he  puts  on,  with  his 
confounded  buckboard  !  It 's  only  a  few  years  sence 
nobody  but  some  old  farmer,  too  poor  to  own  any 
sort  of  wagon,  would  be  seen  ridin'  into  town  on  a 
springboard,  — that  's  what  we  called  'em  then,  — and 
now,  bless  your  heart !  it 's  all  the  rage  !  'T  won't  do, 
boys :  if  he  keeps  on  gittin'  our  business  away  and 


136  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

cuttin'  down  prices,  he'll  ruin  us,  —  or,  ruther,  he'll 
ruin  you,  for  I  Ve  got  my  tavern  to  fall  back  on  to. 
He  hain't  sot  up  no  tavern,  not  quite  yit ! " 

Thus  Sol  Bass  thrust  the  firebrand  at  the  said 
noses  until  he  had  succeeded  in  stirring  up  in  the 
owners  a  passion  almost  as  furious  as  his  own. 
At  the  same  time,  much  as  he  hated  the  sight  of 
a  buckboard  (with  smart  young  Phil  driving  it),  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  try  one  himself. 

For  four  or  five  weeks  Phil  found  no  trouble  at  all 
in  monopolizing  the  Blue  Mountain  travel.  He  had 
not  only  secured  an  exclusive  right  to  the  pasture, 
which  everybody  must  pass  through  who  drove  or 
rode  to  the  Summit,  but  he  knew  very  well  that 
none  of  the  old  wagons  in  use  could  stand  the 
journey. 

Some  horseback  parties  went  up  by  his  route,  and 
he  did  not  object  to  them  ;  but  one  day,  descending 
the  Summit  with  a  party,  he  met  Lorson  driving  up 
with  another  party  on  a  buckboard. 

"  Ye  can't  have  everything  your  own  way,  Sonny," 
said  that  slab-sided  individual,  with  a  malicious  grin, 
as  he  crowded  by. 

Phil,  who  had  turned  out  in  the  woods  at  great  in 
convenience  to  let  him  pass,  answered  with  spirit,  - 

"I've    hired    the    pasture    you've     just     passed 


'  How'n  that  ?  '  phe  paid  triumphantly.     '  How  am  I  for  a  man  of  business  ?  '  "  fp.  133]. 
2.  "Parts  of  the  skeleton  of  a  wagon  fallen  to  pieces"  [p.  143J. 


PHIL'S    CAVERN    AND    THE    SUMMIT.  137 

through,  and  I  've  done  a  good  many  days'  work 
making  this  track  passable  for  one  team,  let  alone 
my  being  the  first  to  think  of  hauling  a  party  up. 
Still  I  don't  object  to  you  or  anybody's  driving  here 
if  you  will  pay  a  share  of  the  expense,  and  make  the 
road  wide  enough  so  that  two  teams  can  meet. 
That's  all  I  ask." 

u  He  asks  a  heap,"  muttered  Bas»,  when  Lorson 
told  him  of  the  encounter.  "Don't  he  and  all  he's 
got  belong  to  me  ?  If  we  '11  make  the  road  wider, 
for  two  teams  to  meet  !  Huh  !  He  better  be  careful, 
or  't  won't  be  long  'fore  there  won't  be  no  buckboard 
o'  hisn  to  meet,  there  or  anywhere  ! " 

About  the  middle  of  July  Phil  handed  Dr.  Mower 
fifty  dollars,  to  be  sent  to  Mr.  Ellerton.  He  had  an 
excellent  run  of  business  for  the  next  ten  days,  at 
the  end  of  which  time  he  one  evening  carried  the 
doctor  fifty  dollars  more. 

"This  isn't  all  that's  owing  to  me,"  he  cried, 
exultantly.  "  At  this  rate,  I  shall  have  my  team  all 
paid  for  before  the  middle  of  August,  with  a  chance 
of  making  a  hundred  or  a  hundred  and  fifty  more  for 
myself  before  the  season  is  over." 

"  First  rate  !  But  keep  your  head  cool,  my  boy," 
said  the  doctor.  "  Don't  crow  till  you  're  out  of  the 
woods.  How  about  our  friend  Bass  ?  " 


138  PHIL   AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

"  His  blackboard  has  been  to  the  Summit  again  this 
week,"  replied  Phil.  "  As  Lorson  really  takes  pains 
to  crowd  me  out  of  the  track,  and  they  won't  do  a 
thing  towards  improving  it,  I  went  to  Mr.  Page  yester 
day  and  told  him  I  should  expect  him  to  keep  his 
agreement ;  he  must  n't  let  any  other  team  cross  his 
pasture." 

"That's  right,  that's  fair,"  said  the  doctor,  who 
had  been  consulted  with  regard  to  the  Blue  Mountain 
enterprise  from  the  beginning.  " What  did  he  say?" 

"  He  said  he  would  stop  the  first  team  ;  and  I  hear 
he  did  stop  Lorson  to-day.  He  had  to  turn  around 
with  his  party,  without  taking  them  to  the  top." 

"  That's  capital!"  the  doctor  chuckled;  "  but  it 
will  make  Bass  rearing  and  pitching  mad  ! " 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Phil ;  "  but  what  can  he  do  ?" 


WHAT    BASS    COULD    DO.  139 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

WHAT    BASS    COULD    DO. 

T}HIL  went  home  from  the  doctor's  in  high  spirits. 
*  His  confidence  in  himself  had  been  justified. 
His  plan  of  reaching  the  Summit  and  securing  con 
trol  of  the  pasture  had  proved  him  a  youth  of  ideas 
and  strategic  resources.  That  he  now  had  Brownie 
and  the  buckboard  half  paid  for,  with  money  still 
owing  him  from  patrons  who  would  be  sure  to  pay 
him  and  not  Bass,  was  a  fact  that  seemed  to  give 
solid  foundation  to  his  triumph. 

"What  can  the  man  do  ?"  he  repeated  to  himself 
as  he  walked  home,  palpitating  with  joy  and  hope, 
under  the  midsummer  stars. 

He  took  a  last  look  at  Brownie  in  his  stall,  pad 
locked  the  barn  door,  extinguished  his  lantern  in 
Mrs.  Shedrick's  kitchen,  and  went  to  bed. 

His  hardy  out-door  life  made  him  a  ready  and 
sound  sleeper,  and  his  mind  usually  passed  from  the 
world  of  thought  to  the  realm  of  dreams  almost  as 
soon  as  his  head  touched  the  pillow.  Often  he  slept 
without  waking  until  morning.  But  that  night,  very 


I4O  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

strangely,  he  was  awakened  twice.  First,  by  some 
indefinable  noise  that  reached  him  through  his  open 
window.  He  lay  and  listened  for  a  few  minutes, 
when,  hearing  nothing  more,  he  got  up  and  looked 
out.  Silence  and  starlight,  the  dim  earth,  and  the 
distant  murmur  of  Thunder  Brook ;  no  other  sight 
or  sound  ;  so  he  went  back  to  bed  again. 

He  could  not  have  slept  long  when  he  was  awa 
kened  a  second  time,  —  not  by  any  noise,  apparently. 
What  then  could  have  roused  him  ?  Was  it  his  own 
prophetic  spirit  ?  for  it  could  hardly  have  been  the 
faintly  flickering  light  on  his  chamber  wall,  —  a  curi 
ous  wavering  glow,  like  the  reflection  of  flames  not 
far  off.  He  could  not  see  any  fire  from  where  he 
lay,  and  yet  it  seemed  to  him  that  there  was  also 
a  soft  gleam  on  the  trees  bordering  the  village 
street. 

Again  he  went  to  the  window,  and  quickly  satisfied 
himself  with  regard  to  the  origin  of  the  light.  Away 
on  a  hillside,  where  he  remembered  that  some  brush- 
heaps  had  been  piled  near  a  grove  belonging  to  Mr. 
Marshall,  there  was  a  lively  blaze. 

"It  seems  to  me  a  strange  time  of  the  night  to  be 
burning  brush-heaps,"  he  said,  and  went  to  bed  again. 

He  was  up  early  the  next  morning,  full  of  pleasant 
anticipations  of  his  work  and  the  gains  it  promised. 


WHAT    BASS    COULD    DO.  14! 

He  was  to  take  a  party  of  three  to  Phil's  Cavern  and 
the  Summit,  and  Brownie  must  have  a  good  breakfast. 
After  doing  some  light  tasks  about  the  boarding- 
house,  he  started  for  the  barn,  whistling  with  happy 
thoughts.  As  he  drew  near,  Brownie  answered  with 
welcoming  whinny  and  pawing  feet  from  within. 

Then  Phil  stopped  whistling  with  remarkable  sud 
denness  :  he  had  noticed  something  wrong  about 
the  door-fastenings,  —  a  staple  had  been  drawn,  the 
hasp  hung  down,  the  padlock  lay  on  the  ground. 

With  a  start  of  alarm  he  sprang  forward  and  threw 
open  the  door,  forgetting  for  an  instant  that  he  had 
already  heard  the  horse  stamp  and  whinny,  and 
looking  to  see  if  he  was  still  there. 

Brownie  was  in  his  stall ;  apparently  nothing  had 
happened  to  him.  What  then  was  the  meaning  of 
the  forced  lock  ?  Phil  glanced  anxiously  around. 
The  harness  hung  on  its  hooks.  But  the  buckboard! 
Where  was  the  buckboard  ? 

He  ran  out  wildly,  uttering  a  despairing  cry.  He 
looked  all  around  the  yard,  then  hastened  to  Mr. 
Marshall's  house. 

Mr.  Marshall  came  to  the  door  half-dressed,  and 
heard  with  surprise  the  boy's  first  breathless  ques 
tion,  — 

"  Have  you  been  to  the'  barn  this  morning  ?  " 


142  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

"No,  I've  only  just  got  out  of  bed,"  he  replied. 
"What's  the  trouble?" 

"The  barn  has  been  broken  into,  .and  my  buck- 
board  has  been  stolen  !  " 

"  Your  buckboard  !     And  the  horse  ?  " 

"The  horse  is  there." 

"  Then  the  buckboard  can't  be  far  away,"  said  Mr. 
Marshall,  reassuringly  :  "nobody  would  want  that 
without  a  horse.  It  must  be  a  foolish  joke  some 
fellows  are  trying  to  play  off  on  you." 

"It's  no  joke,"  said  Phil,  full  of  the  worst  fore 
bodings.  "  Who  burnt  your  brush-heaps  up  on  the 
side-hill  last  night?" 

"  Nobody,  to  my  knowledge.     Are  they  burnt  ?  " 

"  I  saw  the  blaze.     I  know  what  it  means  now." 

Phil  hurried  away  to  the  scene  of  last  night's  fire. 
Mr.  Marshall,  following  immediately,  knew  by  his 
frantic  gestures  before  he  came  up  with  him  what 
had  happened  to  the  buckboard. 

There  was  a  desolate,  smouldering  heap  of  brands 
and  ashes,  before  which  Phil  had  paused,  convulsed 
with  grief  and  rage. 

It  was  a  broad,  spreading  heap,  with  a  pretty  well- 
defined  boundary,  beyond  the  circle  of  which  lay  the 
still  smoking  ends  of  scattered  branches  which  the 
fire  had  not  quite  consumed.  Among  these  pro- 


WHAT    BASS    COULD    DO.  143 

jected  the  fragments  —  the  fragments  only  —  of  a 
pair  of  shafts. 

Within  the  circle,  near  opposite  sides  of  the  heap, 
were  parts  of  the  skeleton  of  a  wagon  fallen  to 
pieces  :  just  two  pairs  of  half-buried  tires,  the  spokes 
and  fellies  mostly  destroyed,  one  axle  sticking  out, 
with  a  charred  piece  of  the  iron-bound  hub,  and 
a  mound  of  cinders  where  the  connecting  board  and 
seats  should  have  been. 

"It's  the  most  monstrous  outrage  ever  I  heard 
of ! "  Mr.  Marshall  exclaimed.  "  Who  could  have 
done  such  a  thing  ?  " 

"  I  know  who  did  it,  or  had  it  done,"  replied  Phil. 
"  Oh,  won't  he  get  his  pay  for  this  !  Fire  is  a  play 
thing  more  than  one  can  handle  !  " 

He  scarcely  knew  what  he  said,  for  the  anger  he 
was  in.  Yet  anger  is  hardly  the  word  to  describe 
his  violent  emotions, — bitter  grief  and  disappoint 
ment,  a  burning  sense  of  wrong,  and  a  maddening 
desire  for  revenge 

"  I  thought  I  heard  somebody  at  the  barn  about 
twelve  or  one  o'clock  last  night,"  said  Mr.  Marshall ; 
"  but  I  had  no  idea  what  was  going  on." 

Phil  was  trying  to  get  his  passion  under  some 
control. 

"  I  heard   a   noise.      I   wish    I   had    come    out    and 


144  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

caught  the  villains  at  it.  There  must  have  been 
more  than  one.  They  hauled  the  buckboard  up  here, 
tumbled  it  over  on  the  brush-heap,  then  set  the  fire 
and  ran  away.  I  '11  find  them  out,"  he  added,  with 
fierce  determination,  —  "I  '11  find  them  out  and 
punish  them,  if  I  live." 


MISFORTUNES    NEVER    COME    SINGLY.  145 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

MISFORTUNES    NEVER    COME    SINGLY. 

HPHE  news  of  the  outrage  spread  quickly,  causing 
•*•  no  little  excitement  in  the  village.  Not  only 
among  Phil's  many  friends,  —  it  was  to  be  expected 
that  their  indignation  and  sympathy  would  be  roused. 
But  strangers,  who  knew  him,  if  at  all,  only  by  sight 
or  name,  and  who  cared  nothing  hitherto  for  his 
troubles  with  the  other  teamsters,  were  inspired  with 
a  sudden  interest  in  his  fortunes  when  they  heard  of 
the  barbarous  wrong. 

Then  if  Phil  had  had  half  a  dozen  buckboards  he 
could  have  found  employment  for  them  all  ;  but  he 
had  not  even  one,  —  nor  did  he  know  where  one 
could  be  had. 

"  The  best  way,"  said  the  doctor,  whom  he  con 
sulted,  "  will  be  to  order  one  directly  from  the 
makers.  I  '11  do  it  for  you ;  and  I  '11  hold  on  mean 
while  to  the  fifty  dollars  I  was  going  to  send  to  Mr. 
Ellerton  to-day.  Collect  what  money  is  owing  you  ; 
then,  if  you  have  n't  enough  to  pay  for  the  new 
wagon,  I  suppose  I  must  let  you  have  some." 

10 


146  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

"  Mrs.  Chadbow  has  already  told  me  she  would 
lend  me  what  I  need,"  said  Phil.  "  I  Ve  got  some 
good  friends  in  that  house,"  his  eyes  glistening 
with  grateful  tears. 

"  That 's  good.  But  you  'd  better  borrow  the 
money  of  me.  You  won't  need  a  very  large  sum. 
Now  for  a  description  of  the  sort  of  wagon  you  want," 
continued  the  doctor,  taking  up  a  pencil,  "for  we 
must  get  off  the  order  the  first  thing." 

"  I  am  going  to  sleep  in  the  barn  after  this,"  said 
Phil,  before  going  away,  "  so  as  to  be  sure  nothing 
happens  to  the  horse  without  my  knowing  it.  I  only 
wish  I  had  done  it  before.  I  offered  to,  so  that  Mrs. 
Shedrick  could  let  my  room  ;  but  she  preferred  to 
have  me  sleep  in  the  house." 

"It's  a  good  idea  for  you  to  sleep  in  the  barn," 
said  the  doctor,  "but  keep  still  about  it.  Govern 
that  lively  tongue  of  yours,  Phil,  on  all  occasions  ; 
don't  brag,  don't  talk  of  your  plans,  and,  above  all, 
don't  threaten.  "Just  mind  your  own  business,  keep 
your  eyes  peeled,  and  very  likely  the  rascals  who 
burnt  your  buckboard  will  betray  themselves.  You 
think  you  know  who  they  are,  and  no  doubt  Bass  is 
at  the  bottom  of  the  villany  ;  but  what  you  want  is 
proof." 

Phil   went   away  comforted  and  encouraged.     He 


MISFORTUNES    NEVER    COME    SINGLY. 

spent  two  days  trying  to  hire  a  wagon  to  fill  the 
place  of  the  buckboad  temporarily,  but  met  with 
poor  success.  Then  came  a  telegram  to  the  doctor, 
sent  by  the  Buckboard  Company  to  inform  him  that 
they  had  no  such  wagon  on  hand,  and  asking  if  they 
should  make  one. 

"  Make  one  ? "  exclaimed  Phil,  despairingly,  when 
the  doctor  read  the  message  to  him  on  the  street. 
"  What 's  the  use  of  that  ?  The  season  is  slipping 
away,  and  it  will  be  over  before  ever  I  see  a 
buckboard  again  !" 

"  It 's  a  hard  case,"  said  the  doctor,  "  but  I  rather 
think  it 's  the  best  thing  you  can  do  ;  or,  you  can 
take  a  ride  up  through  the  mountains,  and  see  if 
you  can  pick  up  another  second-hand  buckboard. 
Think  of  it  over  night,  and  let  me  know  in  the 
morning." 

"  I  '11  think  of  it,"  said  Phil.  But  how  could  he 
decide  ? 

"  If  I  wait  for  a  wagon  to  be  made  for  me,"  he  ex 
plained  to  Clara  that  evening,  "  I  shall  lose  time, 
anyway.  If  I  spend  two  or  three  days  hunting  for  a 
second-hand  one,  and  don't  find  it,  I  shall  be  losing 
so  much  more  time.  I  don't  know  what  to  do." 

"The  more  I  think  of  it,"  said  Clara,  "the  more 
angry  I  am  at  those  mean  men  who  burnt  your  buck- 


148  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

board.  But  don't  be  worried,  Phil  ;  you  '11  come 
out  ahead  of  them  all,  I  'm  sure." 

Her  sympathy  was  precious  to  him.  Nevertheless, 
he  was  full  of  the  torment  of  doubt  and  impatience 
when  he  left  her  and  went  to  the  barn,  thinking  he 
would  come  to  some  decision  while  giving  Brownie 
his  bed. 

He  was  spreading  the  litter  in  the  dusky  stall  with 
a  rustling  noise,  which  prevented  him  from  hearing 
any  other  sound,  when,  on  looking  up  suddenly,  he 
saw,  standing  beside  him  at  the  horse's  heels,  the 
figure  of  a  man. 

He  was  startled  by  the  apparition,  coming  upon 
him  so  mysteriously.  It  was  not  so  dark  but  he 
could  see  that  his  visitor  had  some  at  least  of  the 
characteristics  of  a  tramp,  —  shabby  garments,  a 
battered  hat,  and  a  bristling,  uncleanly  beard. 

"  Hallo ! "  said  the  boy,  sharply,  with  a  step 
backward.  "  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  Phil,  my  boy,"  answered  the  man,  doubtfully, 
"is  it  you?" 

If  he  had  given  him  a  blow,  Phil  could  not  have 
been  more  hopelessly  stunned  and  dizzied  for  a 
moment.  He  stood  gasping  and  trembling,  unable 
to  take  in  the  magnitude  of  this  new  calamity  which 
had  rushed  upon  the  heels  of  his  other  troubles, 
when  the  visitor  went  on,  — • 


MISFORTUNES    NEVER    COME    SINGLY.  149 

"  It  is  you,  I  see  !  But  how  you  have  grown  !  They 
told  me  I  would  find  you  here.  Well,  T  am  changed, 
too,  my  boy.  You  hardly  know  me  yet." 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  know  you,"  faltered  Phil,  utterly 
miserable,  when  he  felt  that  he  ought  to  be  glad. 
"  Who  told  you  I  was  here  ?  " 

"  The  folks  at  the  boarding-house,  —  a  lady  and  a 
girl  on  the  piazza.  How  are  you  prospering,  my  boy  ? " 

Phil  did  not  answer.  He  had  a  feeling  of  deathly 
cold  and  faintness  at  his  heart.  It  was  an  aguish 
hand  which  the  shabby  visitor  had  somehow  got 
hold  of  and  was  pressing  affectionately. 

"  This  is  n't  a  very  cordial  welcome  you  are  giving 
your  father,"  he  said,  sadly,  as  he  dropped  the 
unresponsive  palm. 

"I  can't  help  it,"  said  Phil.  "I  didn't  expect 
you.  I  don't  see  why  you  have  come." 

"  Do  you  think  I  have  no  affection  for  my  own 
flesh  and  blood  ? "  replied  Farlow,  in  a  pathetic  voice. 

There  was  only  the  ghost  of  his  old  pleasant,  airy 
manner  left.  He  appeared  very  weary.  Phil  had 
never  dreamt  of  seeing  him  again,  so  dingy  and  so 
broken.  He  was  touched  ;  yet  he  could  not  help 
answering,  coldly,  — 

"  I  have  n't  had  much  reason  to  think  you  cared 
for  me." 


I5O  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

"  I  know  you  have  n't,"  Farlow  admitted,  with 
something  like  his  old  engaging  frankness.  "  I  have 
been  coming  for  you,  or  sending  for  you,  any  time 
these  past  two  years  ;  but  somehow  I  never  could 
strike  a  genuine  streak  of  luck." 

"I  never  expected  you  would,"  said  Phil;  "but 
I  never  expected  this." 

He  looked  with  undiminished  dismay  at  his  father, 
who  seemed  to  him  to  have  grown  shorter  by  half  a 
head  while  deteriorating  in  other  ways.  It  is  certain 
that  Farlow  did  not  bear  himself  so  jauntily  upright 
as  formerly.  But  the  difference  was  chiefly  in  Phil, 
who  had  grown  tall. 

"  Of  course  you  did  n't,"  said  the  elder.  "  The 
world  has  been  rather  rough  on  the  old  fellow,  my 
boy.  But  I  'm  coming  out  all  right.  I  did  n't  know 
whether  I  should  be  able  to  hunt  you  up  or  not ;  but 
luck  was  with  me  for  once." 

The  unfilial  words  came  to  the  son's  quivering  lips, 
"  The  luck  was  not  with  me  !  "  but  he  did  not  utter 
them  audibly.  He  said  aloud,  — 

"  I  don't  see  what  I  can  do  for  you." 

"  I  don't  expect  you  to  do  much,"  said  the  father. 
"  But  it  is  a  satisfaction  to  see  you  again,  and  know 
you  are  prospering." 

"  I   am   not  prospering  !  "  Phil  exclaimed,  passion- 


MISFORTUNES    NEVER    COME    SINGLY.  I  5  I 

ately,  the  recollection  of  his  other  woes  crowding 
upon  him.  "I  have  n't  anything  I  can  call  my  own.  I 
can't  even  call  myself  my  own,  since  you  went  away." 

"Why,  how's  that,  Phil?" 

"  Did  n't  you  pawn  me,  pledge  me  as  security,  for 
your  debt  to  Bass  ? " 

"  But  that  did  n't  amount  to  anything,"  said 
Farlow,  as  much  surprised  as  if  that  little  trans 
action  had  altogether  escaped  his  mind. 

"  It  has  amounted  to  this,"  returned  Phil,  his  voice 
agitated  almost  to  sobs,  "  that  Bass  held  me  and  had 
my  services  for  a  year,  and  has  dogged  me,  as  he 
threatened  to  do  when  I  left  him, — dogged  and 
persecuted  and  ruined  me  at  last.  Oh  !  "  he  exclaimed 
in  anguish  ;  "  and  now  to  have  you  come  back  in  this 
way,  and  say  your  pawning  me  did  n't  amount  to 
anything  ! " 

"  Gracious  heaven,  my  boy  !  "  said  Farlow,  greatly 
disturbed,  "I  never  for  a  moment  supposed  it  would. 
But  I  see  my  coming  is  ill-timed.  I  won't  trouble 
you.  I  '11  go." 

"  No,  —  father  !  "  said  Phil,  chokingly.  He  could 
not  speak  the  name  before  ;  he  had  not  thought  he 
could  ever  speak  it  again.  "  I  can't  tell  you  to  stay, 
for  there  's  nothing  under  heaven  I  can  do  for  you, 
as  I  see  ;  and  you  can  bring  nothing  but  trouble  to 
me,  when  I  have  enough  already.  But  don't  go  so." 


I  $2  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

FATHER    AND    SON     ONCE    MORE. 

rySHEARTENING  as  such  an  invitation  must 
*^  have  been,  Farlow  did  not  wait  to  have  it 
repeated.  He  had  looked  around  him  in  a  tired 
fashion  two  or  three  times,  and  now,  seeing  a 
peck-measure  by  the  door,  he  turned  it  up  and 
sat  down  on  it. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  and  where  are  you 
going?"  Phil  said,  watching  him  with  mingled  feel 
ings  of  pity  and  dread,  and  almost  sorry  he  had 
a^ked  him  to  stay. 

"I've  just  been  knocking  about,  here,  there,  and 
anywhere,  for  the  most  of  the  time,"  said  Farlow, 
taking  out  a  pipe  and  half  filling  it  with  pinches  of 
crumbled  tobacco  from  his  pocket.  "  Where  I  'm 
going,  the  Lord  only  knows."  • 

He  struck  a  match  on  the  sole  of  his  shoe,  and 
began  to  puff. 

"Why  can't  you  ever  settle  down  somewhere  in 
some  sort  of  business  ? "  Phil  inquired,  impatiently, 
setting  his  foot  on  the  match  his  father  had  dropped. 


FATHER    AND    SON    ONCE    MORE.  1 53 

11 1  Ve  tried  it,"  said  Farlow.  "  But  that 's  easier 
said  than  done.  A  gentlemanly  occupation  is  n't  easy 
to  be  had ;  and  I  can't  adapt  myself  to  any  other." 

"  A  gentlemanly  occupation  ! "  Phil  exclaimed, 
with  something  like  angry  contempt.  "  I  'd  black 
boots,  or  do  any  honest  work,  and  consider  it  a  good 
deal  more  gentlemanly  than  living  as  you  do." 

His  father  had  sat  down  to  his  smoke  in  so  con 
tented  a  manner,  so  much  as  if  he  had  left  his  cares 
behind  and  come  to  take  his  ease  there  with  his  boy 
in  the  dusky  barn,  that  Phil  could  not  help  uttering 
this  reproach. 

"You  always  were  inclined  to  be  hard  on  your 
father,"  said  the  wanderer,  peevishly.  "  I  don't  say 
but  what  I  deserve  it ;  but  you  might  at  least  put  off 
your  preaching  till  morning." 

"Till  morning!"  The  implication  that  his  father 
had  really  come  to  stay  with  him  was  appalling  to 
poor  Phil. 

"  Why  not  ? "  said  the  smoker,  between  puffs. 

"I  can't  keep  you  till  morning,"  Phil  answered. 
"  I  have  n't  a  bed  even  for  myself." 

"  Not  a  bed  ?  But  you  must  have  some  place  to 
sleep."  Farlow  looked  up  from  his  pipe. 

"  I  sleep  on  the  straw  here  in  the  barn,"  said  Phil. 

"That   will    do,"    Farlow    replied,    complacently. 


154  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

"  It  won't  be  the  first  time  for  me,  if  I  sleep  on  the 
straw,  too.  And  a  bite  of  some  sort  ?  I  have  n't  had 
any  supper,  — nor  any  dinner,  for  that  matter." 

He  fell  to  smoking  again,  while  Phil  remained 
silent,  full  of  conflicting  thoughts. 

"  What !  No  supper  ?  "  said  Farlow,  at  length,  as 
the  boy  made  no  sign. 

"  I  'd  be  glad  to  give  you  my  supper,"  replied  Phil, 
with  wretched  hesitancy.  "  I  'd  be  willing  never  to 
eat  another  if  —  if —  But  that  isn't  it." 

"  What  is  the  hitch  then  ?  I  see  !  You  are  not 
willing  to  take  me  into  the  house  and  introduce  me 
to  your  friends,  and  say,  '  This  is  my  father ! ' 
You  're  wondering  how  you  can  do  it." 

Phil  could  not  deny  that  this  very  thing  was  in  his 
thoughts.  He  stood  silent,  his  head  down,  his  eyes 
on  the  gloomy  floor,  while  Farlow  went  on,  — 

"Well,  I  don't  wonder.  I'm  not  dressed  as  a  gen 
tleman  of  my  quality  should  be,  that 's  a  fact ;  and 
you  have  a  right  to  be  ashamed  of  my  shabbiness." 

"  Oh,  that 's  not  it !  "  Phil  spoke  up,  quickly.  "  I 
should  n't  be  ashamed  of  anything  about  you  —  your 
clothes,  or  anything  —  if — " 

"Out  with  it,  my  boy!  "  said  Farlow,  putting  more 
refuse  tobacco  into  his  pipe. 

"  If  you  were  not  what  you  are  ;  that 's  what  I  am 


FATHER   AND    SON    ONCE    MORE.  155 

ashamed  of,"  Phil  burst  forth,  vehemently.  "  If  you 
had  come  honestly  by  your  shabbiness,  as  you  call  it, 
I  —  I  think  I  could  be  proud  of  it." 

Farlow  shrugged,  and  struck  another  match  as  he 
said,  — 

"  Then  I  'm  to  have  no  supper." 

"  I  can't  take  you  into  the  house,"  said  Phil,  hav 
ing  made  up  his  mind  on  that  point.  "  But  I  have  n't 
had  my  supper  yet.  I  '11  get  it  and  bring  it  out  to 
you." 

Farlow  took  a 'puff  or  two,  and  said,  over  his  pipe, 
while  he  waved  the  match  to  extinguish  it  before 
throwing  it  down, — 

"  And  have  none  yourself  ? " 

"  Does  he  think  I  can  eat  anything  to-night  ? " 
thought  the  wretched  boy,  as,  without  answering,  he 
moved  towards  the  door. 

Phil  waited  to  see  the  match  put  out  to  the  last 
spark,  for  the  man  he  left  sitting  there  on  the 
upturned  measure  was  so  little  like  his  father,  so 
much  like  a  nightmare  vision  of  him  rather,  and  he 
handled  his  matches  so  recklessly  over  the  littered 
floor,  that  he  had  no  more  confidence  in  his  avoiding 
to  set  the  straw  afire  than  if  he  had  been  any  com 
mon  tramp. 

He   did  not  wish  to  be   seen  as  he  entered  the 


156  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

house,  but  Clara  started  out  from  under  the  trees 
with  a  book  her  mother  had  sent  her  to  bring  from 
the  hammock. 

"  O  Phil !  "  she  cried  ;  "did  you  see  that  man  who 
was  asking  for  you  ?  Mother  thought  it  so  strange  ; 
she  said  he  looked  so  like  a  vagabond  ! " 

How  could  the  boy  be  true  in  his  terrible  humili 
ation  and  distress,  and  say, — "That  man  is  my 
father!  "  It  was  impossible.  So  he  gave  the  evasive 
answer  he  had  already  prepared  for  such  questions. 

"  Yes,  I  saw  him.  He 's  a  man  I  used  to  see 
around  town  some  time  ago." 

"What  did  he  want?" 

"  Something  to  eat,  I  suppose.  I  am  going  to  give 
him  something  and  send  him  away." 

"  Is  he  waiting  there  in  the  barn  ?  I  should  think 
you  would  be  afraid,"  said  Clara. 

"  What  is  there  to  be  afraid  of  ? "  replied  Phil,  with 
as  careless  an  air  as  he  could  assume. 

It  was  a  common  thing  for  him  to  come  in  late  to 
his  supper,  and  he  found  it  set  aside,  waiting  for  him 
on  the  kitchen  table.  He  pretended  to  eat,  but 
slipped  meat  and  bread  and  a  piece  of  pie  into  a 
napkin  on  his  knees,  and  soon  returned  to  the  barn, 
half  expecting  to  find  that  another  lighted  match 
had  in  the  mean  while  been  dropped  in  the  straw. 


FATHER    AND    SON    ONCE    MORE.  157 

He  found  Farlow  sitting  where  he  had  left  him, 
musing  in  the  gloom  over  his  burnt-out  pipe.  He 
quickly  knocked  out  the  ashes  at  sight  of  Phil,  re 
turned  the  pipe  to  his  pocket,  and  looked-at  the  well- 
filled  napkin  with  a  gleam  of  something  like  avidity. 

"  Don't  you  want  to  wash  yourself  first  ?  Here 
is  a  pail  of  water,"  said  Phil. 

"Thank  you,  my  son,  I'll  eat  first,  if  it's  the  same 
thing  to  you,"  replied  Farlow,  extending  his  hand 
for  the  napkin. 

He  opened  it  and  began  to  devour  its  contents  in 
a  way  which  made  Phil  glad  indeed  he  had  not  taken 
him  into  the  house.  To  witness  the  uncleanly  habits 
into  which  he  had  fallen,  and  to  see  him  eat  so  like 
one  who  had  not  for  days  tasted  wholesome  food, 
was  a  heart-sickening  trial  to  the  boy.  How  could 
he  bear  that  anybody  else  should  see  and  know  that 
this  was  his  father  ! 

He  was  glad  of  an  excuse  to  leave  him  again, 
when  Farlow  asked  for  drink.  It  was  a  relief  to 
breathe  the  free  air  alone  once  more,  for  only  a  few 
minutes.  To  return  to  the  barn  was  like  going  back 
to  a  prison. 

"  You  could  n't  get  a  drop  of  brandy  to  put  into  it, 
could  you,  Phil  ? "  said  Farlow,  with  an  insinuating 
smile,  as  he  took  the  dipper  in  which  the  water  was 


158  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

brought  from  the  pump.  "Or  anything  warming, 
you  know, —  to  raise  a  man's  spirits  a  trifle?  Then  I 
can  talk  with  you." 

"No,  I  couldn't,  to  save  my  lite,"  replied  Phil. 

Farlow  shrugged,  took  a  sip  of  the  water,  and  set 
the  dipper  down,  saying  he  felt  ill.  He  could  eat  no 
more  ;  the  napkin,  with  what  was  left  of  the  victuals, 
was  falling  from  his  lap.  Phil  took  it  away,  alarmed 
and  distressed,  but  saying  to  himself,  — 

"  I  can't  get  him  liquor,  even  if  he  dies  ;  perhaps 
he  had  better  die  ! " 

"  I  'm  a  used-up  man;  that's  just  the  fact  about 
it,"  said  Farlow,  sliding  down  and  stretching  himself 
out  on  the  floor.  "  I  've  had  such  a  tramp,  coming  to 
find  you." 

That  was  a  dreadful  suggestion.  He  had  come  so 
far,  the  hopelessly  broken  man,  no-  doubt  relying  on 
Phil  for  help.  How  he  was  to  help  him,  or  even 
to  get  rid  of  him  again,  was  an  awful  problem  to  the 
anxious  son.  He  brought  straw  for  his  father  to 
lie  on  and  a  bundle  for  his  head.  Farlow  murmured 
something,  and  almost  immediately  went  off  in  a 
stupor,  which  Phil  perceived  to  be  sleep. 

"  No  matter  what  his  troubles  were,  he  could 
always  sleep  and  leave  somebody  else  to  bear  them," 
the  boy  said  to  himself,  bitterly.  He  remembered 


FATHER  AND  SON  ONCE  MORE.         159 

the  last  night  they  passed  together  at  Bass's  tavern, 
and  said  to  himself  again,  as  he  said  then,  "  How  can 
he  sleep  so  !  " 

But  he  was  thankful  for  a  chance  to  think  over  the 
situation  and  try  to  solve  that  frightful  problem.  In 
the  mean  time,  he  prepared  his  own  bed  of  straw, 
shut  the  barn,  leaving  the  windows  open  for  air,  and 
lay  down  in  a  corner. 


l6O  PHIL   AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

THE    NIGHT    IN    THE    BARN  :     THE    MORNING. 

GOOD  sleeper  as  he  was  when  free  from  care  and 
happy,  Phil  knew  there  was  not  much  rest  in  store 
for  him  that  night.  He  lay  listening  to  his  father's 
heavy  breathing,  and  asking  himself  over  and  over 
again  what  he  ought  to  do,  it  seemed  to  him,  for 
hours ;  and  when  at  last  he  sank  into  a  feverish 
slumber,  from  sheer  weariness  of  body  and  soul,  he 
could  not  have  slept  many  minutes  before  he  was 
startled  by  a  sound. 

He  had  lost  himself,  and  for  a  brief,  blessed  in 
terval  forgotten  where  he  was.  He  sat  up,  staring 
with  fright.  A  small,  bluish-green,  sputtering  flame 
was  the  only  object  visible  in  the  darkness.  It  was 
not  much  larger  than  a  pea,  and  it  shed  scarcely  a 
halo  around,  —  a  flame  without  light,  but  it  blazed  up 
presently,  increasing  in  brightness,  and  by  degrees  a 
hand  holding  a  match  became  visible ;  then  a  stub  of 
a  pipe,  held  by  another  hand,  started  out  of  the  black 
shadows,  with  a  rough-bearded  mouth  and  a  haggard 


THE  NIGHT  IN  THE  BARN.  l6l 

face,  half  illumined.  A  strange  and  terrible  picture 
in  the  surrounding  gloom,  —  terrible,  indeed,  to  poor 
Phil,  called  back  thus  suddenly  to  the  reality  of  his 
situation. 

He  believed  the  litter  on  which  his  father  lay  must 
surely  get  a  spark,  and  he  was  going  to  shriek  out, 
but  was  restrained  by  the  thought  that  any  sudden 
disturbance  might  as  soon  precipitate  as  prevent  the 
catastrophe.  So  he  waited,  spellbound  with  fear, 
and  saw  a  part  of  the  thin  bright  coal  at  the  burnt 
end  of  the  match  actually  fall  into  his  father's  lap. 
Then  all  was  dark  again,  except  for  a  fitful  glow  in 
the  pipe-bowl  as  the  puffs  were  drawn. 

Still  the  boy  did  not  speak.  He  could  only  wait 
in  anxious  horror  to  see  the  pipe  smoked  out  and 
extinguished,  wondering,  meanwhile,  that  any  man 
could  be  so  criminally  careless,  and  inwardly  vowing 
that  he  would  never  endure  another  such  night. 

"  Even  if  I  did  n't  think  of  myself  and  the  horse," 
he  reflected,  "  I  have  no  right  to  expose  anybody's 
barn  to  such  a  risk." 

After  his  smoke,  which  was  luckily  attended  by  no 
dangerous  consequences,  Farlow  slept  again.  As  for 
Phil,  he  no  longer  dared  to  sleep.  He  lay  awake  in 
tortures  of  anxiety,  tossing  in  his  straw  until  the 
morning  light  shone  in  at  the  windows  of  the  barn. 


l62  PHIL   AND    HIS   FRIENDS. 

Then  Farlow  stirred  again.  Phil  waited  to  observe 
what  he  would  do  ;  but  when,  in  that  early  twilight, 
he  saw  his  father  scraping  the  bottom  of  his  pocket 
for  tobacco  dust  enough  for  another  pipe,  he  could 
restrain  himself  no  longer. 

"  I  can't  have  you  smoking  here  ! "  he  said,  spring 
ing  up.  "  I  've  stood  it  as  long  as  I  can.  If  you 
want  to  smoke,  you  must  go  out  of  this  barn." 

"  Hallo,  Phil !  "  said  Farlow,  turning  the  pocket- 
lining  out  into  his  palm.  "  Is  it  your  barn  ? " 

"  No  ;  but  I  am  in  charge ;  I  am  trusted  to  take 
care  of  it.  You  can't  light  your  pipe  on  the  straw 
many  times,  as  you  have  been  doing,  without 
burning  us  up." 

"No  danger."  Farlow  blew  the  dust  out  of  his 
hand  and  put  up  his  pipe  again.  "  I  can't  smoke  if  I 
try  ;  I  'm  out  of  tobacco.  Can't  you  get  me  some  ?  " 

Phil  was  too  much  exasperated  by  this  question  to 
make  any  reply  to  it.  He  threw  open  the  barn  door, 
and  then  went  for  relief  to  the  whinnying  horse. 
After  a  while,  with  his  heart  almost  too  full  for 
words,  he  turned  to  his  father,  who  sat  on  his  bed 
feeling  his  beard  and  running  his  fingers  through  his 
hair. 

"  I  ain't  so  clean  shaved  as  I  used  to  be,"  Farlow 
was  saying.  "  It  would  improve  the  old  fellow's  ap- 


THE    MORNING.  163 

pearance,  Phil,  if  you  could  give  him  a  little  money 
for  the  barber." 

"  How  much  do  you  want  ?  "  said  Phil,  putting  his 
hand  promptly  into  his  pocket. 

Farlow  read  his  thoughts,  and  answered  with  a 
dismal  sort  of  laugh, — 

"  You  seem  ready  to  do  anything  to  get  rid  of  me 
in  a  hurry.  Don't  be  anxious  ;  I  'm  not  going  to 
trouble  you  long." 

"  Father,"  said  Phil,  after  a  struggle  with  his  ris 
ing  heart,  "  I.  've  thought  of  a  good  many  things  over 
night,  while  you  were  asleep.  I  want  to  do  my  duty 
by  you,  and  say  only  what  I  ought  to  say." 

"  Oh  !  The  sermon  is  coming,  is  it  ? "  said  Farlow, 
showing  his  teeth  like  a  beast  in  his  lair. 

"Call  it  what  you  please,"  replied  Phil;  "it  is 
time  for  us  to  come  to  an  understanding.  I  can't 
stand  another  such  night." 

"  Who  has  asked  you  to  ? "  cried  Farlow,  snap 
pishly." 

"  Nobody  asked  me  to  endure  what  I  did  last 
night,"  answered  the  boy ;  "  but  I  had  to.  And  I 
can't  tell  what  may  happen,  now  you  have  once 
come  back.  I  have  n't  any  home  to  offer  you  ;  and  I 
should  be  afraid  if  I  had,  while  you  are  so  careless 
with  your  pipe  and  matches.  If  you  could  only 


164  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

change  your  habits  and  go  to  work  I  would  stick 
by  you,  and  help  you  every  way  I  could." 

Farlow  shrugged.  "  It 's  too  late  for  that.  If  I 
only  had  a  little  money  to  give  me  a  fresh  start," 
looking  wistfully  at  the  pocket-book  in  Phil's  hands, 
"  I  could  make  my  way." 

Phil  knew  well  enough  that  giving  him  money 
would  be  useless  for  any  permanent  practical  good ; 
but  what  else  could  he  do  ? 

"  I  '11  give  you  all  I  have.     Here 's  nine    dollars." 

Farlow  looked  somewhat  disappointed ;  having 
heard  that  Phil  was  prospering,  he  undoubtedly  ex 
pected  more.  Yet  he  took  the  money,  saying,  as  he 
got  upon  his  feet,  — 

"Nine  dollars  is  a  small  sum  to  freshen  up  a 
man  in  my  condition  and  set  him  on  his  legs  again, 
but  it  will  do  for  a  beginning.  I  shall  strike  a  streak 
of  luck."  And  he  smilingly  stuffed  the  bank-notes 
into  his  tobacco-soiled  pocket. 

"Don't  go  to  Bass's  bar-room  with  it,"  pleaded 
Phil. 

"  Think  they  would  know  me  there  ?  I  don't. 
Not  a  soul  in  the  village  recognized  me  last  evening, 
—  and  I  spoke  to  two  or  three." 

The  son  could  see  thirsty  anticipations  of  the 
tavern  in  the  father's  brightening  face.  He  deter- 


THE    MORNING.  165 

mined  to  get  him  past  that  danger,  and  also,  if 
possible,  prevent  his  presence  in  the  village  from 
being  discovered. 

"  I  '11  harness  up  and  take  you  a  few  miles  over  the 
road,"  he  said. 

"  All  right/'  said  Farlow.  "  I  '11  walk  along,  and 
you  can  overtake  me  and  pick  me  up." 

"  No  !  "  Phil  insisted,  knowing  too  well  what  that 
meant.  "  Wait,  and  start  with  me." 

"  You  would  send  me  off  at  this  hour  of  the  morn 
ing  without  any  refreshment  ?  " 

"You  can  stand  it,  if  you  ride.  I  '11  take  you  to  a 
place  where  you  can  get  a  good  breakfast.  Besides, 
there  's  a  part  of  the  supper  you  left  last  night." 

Seeing  that  the  boy  was  determined,  Farlow 
yielded.  Brownie  was  soon  harnessed  to  the  rather 
shabby  borrowed  wagon  which  had  taken  the  place 
of  the  burnt  buckboard  for  a  day  or  two,  and,  with 
his  father  safe  on  the  seat  beside  him,  Phil  drove 
off.  It  was  still  early ;  few  people  were  astir. 
Avoiding  the  main  street,  he  took  a  by-way  and  got 
out  of  the  village,  as  he  hoped,  without  being  seen. 

In  about  two  hours  he  returned,  alone,  and  feeling 
as  if  he  had  been  guilty  of  a  dreadful  sin.  While  his 
reason  told  him  that  it  was  impossible  to  keep  his 
father  with  him,  something  in  his  heart  would  whisper, 


166  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

"  Ought  I  to  have  let  him  go  ?  How  could  I  let  him 
go?"  Yet  he  could  not  wish  him  back.  On  the 
contrary,  since  their  parting,  he  had  cast  more  than 
one  look  of  shuddering  fear  behind,  and  in  his  heart 
was  an  ever-growing  dread  that  his  father  might  re 
appear  at  any  time  and  blast  his  life. 


MRS.    CHADBOW    MAKES   A   DISCOVERY.  l6/ 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

MRS.    CHADBOW    MAKES    A   DISCOVERY. 

T7ORTUNATELY,  no  questions  were  asked  at  the 
boarding-house  regarding  Phil's  morning  ride, 
and  no  mention  was  made  of  his  strange  visitor  of 
the  night  before. 

To  only  one  confidential  friend  and  adviser  could 
he  unburden  his  heart.  To  the  doctor,  when  he 
went  to  talk  with  him  about  the  buckboard,  he 
told  all. 

"You  did  just  right,"  the  doctor  said,  in  reply  ot 
the  boy'.s  miserable  self-accusations,  "  except,  per 
haps,  in  one  thing,  —  you  ought  not  to  have  given 
him  any  money." 

"How  could  I  help  it?"  said  Phil.  "If  he  had 
been  any  strange  tramp  needing  help,  I  should  have 
wanted  to  do  something  for  him,  —  and  he  is  my 
own  father ! " 

"  Of  course,  of  course.  Nobody  blames  you.  But, 
having  got  money  of  you,"  continued  the  doctor,  "  he 
will  be  all  the  more  certain  to  come  back.  He  will 


1 68  PHIT.    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

keep  coming  as  long  as  he  can  get  something  out  of 
you." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  murmured  Phil. 

"Give  him  a  little,  if  you  must,  but  don't  give  him 
much  at  a  time.  It  would  be  better  if  you  could  have 
nothing  whatever  to  do  with  him  You  can't  do  him 
any  good,  and  it  is  n't  right  that  he  should  drag  you 
down  in  his  ruin.  He  '11  do  it,  if  you  let  him.  You 
could  ill  afford  that  nine  dollars,  Phil." 

"  I  know  it.  I  don't  suppose  I  can  order  a  buck- 
board  now,  anyway,"  said  Phil,  discouraged. 

"On  the  whole,"  replied  the  doctor,  "considering 
that  the  season  will  be  nearly  over  before  you  could 
probably  get  one,  perhaps  it  will  be  as  well  for  you  to 
worry  through  with  the  wagon  you  have,  or  a  better 
one  if  you  can  procure  it  ;  then  in  the  fall  or  winter 
you  can  no  doubt  pick  up  a  second-hand  buckboard 
somewhere,  at  a  low  price,  and  be  prepared  for 
another  year.  Ellerton  will  be  easy  with  you,  under 
the  circumstances." 

"  I  was  going  to  pay  him  up,  and  have  something 
left  for  myself  in  the  fall,"  said  Phil,  recalling  his 
baffled  hopes.  "  It  seems  as  if  everything  was 
against  me  all  at  once." 

"  Oh,  not  quite  everything,"  said  the  doctor,  cheer- 
ingly.  "But  you  are  meeting  with  obstacles,  just  as 


MRS.    CHADBOW    MAKES    A    DISCOVERY.  169 

everybody  must  expect  to  in  this  world.  The  way 
to  fortune  is  not  so  smooth  as  you  were  beginning  to 
believe.  And  I  'm  not  sure  but  it 's  a  good  thing  for 
you  to  have  found  it  out  thus  early.  Sudden,  un 
interrupted  success  is  never  the  best  thing  for  a  boy 
like  you,  Phil ;  did  you  know  it  ?  " 

"  It  seemed  to  me  a  pretty  good  thing,"  replied 
Phil,  with  a  smile  of  rather  gloomy  humor.  "  I  did  n't 
find  any  fault  with  it." 

"  But  you  will  be  a  broader,  wiser,  larger-hearted 
man  for  these  very  troubles  you  have  to  grapple 
with  if  you  meet  them  in  the  right  way  and  triumph 
over  them,  —  or  at  least  deserve  to  triumph,  which  is 
better  still.  Your  character  will  be  developed  and 
strengthened  by  them  ;  and,  after  all,  character,  and 
not  success,  is  the  main  thing  to  be  thought  of  in  this 
life.  On  the  whole,"  the  doctor  added,  with  a  pleas 
ant  half-smile,  "  it  won't  do  you  any  hurt,  my  boy, 
to  have  a  little  of  the  conceit  knocked  out  of  you." 

"  But  the  meanness  of  people  !  "  Phil  declared  ; 
"  such  an  outrageous  thing,  for  instance,  as  burning 
my  buckboard  !  That  rouses  something  in  me  which 
I  don't  believe  does  anybody  any  good.  It  makes 
we  want  to  kill  the  men  who  did  it  !  " 

"  That 's  a  natural  feeling  ;  but  you  must  over 
come  it.  You  must  learn  to  expect  selfishness  and 


I/O  PHIL   AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

injustice  from  the  majority  of  mankind.  They  act 
according  to  their  nature,  —  just  as  bears  and  wolves 
do.  Can  you  really  blame  the  bear  and  wolf  for 
being  as  they  are  ?  " 

"  Maybe  not ;  but  I  want  to  kill  them  all  the 
same." 

The  doctor  gave  his  amused  chuckle. 

"  If  only  for  your  own  sake,"  he  said,  growing 
serious  again,  "  you  must  n't  do  the  killing  with 
revengeful  feelings.  I  hope  Bass,  or  whoever  did 
that  thing,  will  get  properly  punished  for  it,  for  I 
believe  in  justice.  But  as  for  you  and  me,  Phil,  we 
must  learn  to  have  charity,  even  for  our  enemies,  and 
practise  a  little  the  old-fashioned  doctrine  of  return 
ing  good  for  evil." 

Phil  went  off  feeling  better  after  this  talk.  For 
tunately  he  had  occupation  to  distract  his  mind. 
The  wagon  he  had  was  a  poor  affair ;  yet  his  friends 
continued  for  some  time  to  employ  him,  partly,  per 
haps,  to  show  their  sympathy  for  the  wrong  he  had 
suffered.  Then,  as  the  days  went  by  and  he  heard 
no  more  of  his  father,  his  hope  that  he  would  keep 
away  grew  strong,  and  his  dread  of  him  became  less. 

But  the  misfortunes  of  our  friends  soon  get  to  be 
an  old  story  with  us,  and  sympathy  with  the  driver 
will  not  long  ease  the  discomfort  of  a  hard-riding 


MRS.   CHADBOW    MAKES    A    DISCOVERY.  I/ 1 

wagon.  Phil's  patronage  .gradually  fell  off ;  so  that, 
by  the  time  he  had  hoped  to  have  his  horse  and 
blackboard  paid  for,  and  money  of  his  own  in  pocket, 
he  found  himself  still  seventy  dollars  in  debt,  with 
only  a  wretched  vehicle  he  was  paying  two  dollars  a 
week  for,  and  a  failing  business. 

Then,  to  his  wrath  and  amazement,  he  learned  that 
Bass  had  got  a  new,  three-seated,  two-horse  buckboard 
on  the  road. 

"  I  set  the  fashion  of  buckboards  here,"  he  said  to 
Minkins,  who  told  him  that  interesting  fact.  "  And 
now  he  has  burnt  mine  and  got  two  of  his  own ! " 

"  Did  you  know,"  Minkins  continued,  "  he  Js  been 
haulin'  parties  to  the  Summit  and  the  Cavern  — your 
cavern  —  for  the  past  week  or  more  ? " 

"  No ! "  exclaimed  Phil,  at  first  incredulous,  then 
stung  to  fresh  fury  by  this  added  wrong.  "  Page 
promised  me  he  would  stop  that." 

"  He  did  stop  it.  But  he  says  Bass  claimed  't  you 
was  bound  to  him,  and  had  n't  no  right  to  make  an 
independent  bargain.  I  guess  he  tickled  Page's 
fingers  with  a  little  money,  too ;  an'  that  opened  the 
gates  to  his  teams.  So,  ye  see,  all  you  've  been  doin' 
up  there  's  been  jest  for  Bass." 

This  was  more  than  Phil  could  bear. 

"Talk  of  having  charity  for  our  enemies  after  this," 


1/2  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

he  muttered  to  himself,  as  he  hurried  from  the  store, 
"  and  returning  good  for  evil !  I  can't,  and  I  won't !  " 

If  a  feather  was  wanted  to  break  the  back  of  Phil's 
patience  at  this  time,  it  came  when  Mrs.  Chadbow, 
wishing  to  make  another  trip  to  the  summit  of  Blue 
Mountain  with  some  lately  arrived  friends,  made  it 
on  Bass's  new  buckboard. 

It  was  more  than  a  feather.  He  could  not  very 
well  blame  her ;  for  there  were  seven  in  her  party, 
and  his  own  hired  wagon,  besides  being  too  weak  to 
stand  the  wrenches  it  would  get  on  the  rocky  slopes, 
would  carry  with  comfort  not  more  than  three  or 
four;  nevertheless,  when  he  saw  Clara  and  her  mother 
ride  away  behind  the  slab-sided  Lorson  on  that  fine, 
three-seated  buck-wagon,  and  heard  their  laughing 
voices,  he  felt  that  they  had  quite  forgotten  him  and 
his  wrongs,  and  gone  over  to  the  enemy. 

He  had  no  orders  that  day,  and  little  to  do,  there 
fore,  but  to  brood  over  his  woes,  which  is  not  a 
healthy  thing  for  any  boy.  He  avoided  speaking 
with  Clara  and  her  mother  on  their  return  at  night, 
but  retired  early  to  his  bed  in  the  barn,  and  shut 
himself  up  to  consider  desperately  what  he  should 
do. 

"  Phil  really  feels  hurt ;  I  am  so  sorry  !  "  Clara  said 
to  her  mother,  as  they  entered  their  room  together. 


MRS.    CHADBOW    MAKES    A    DISCOVERY.  1/3 

"  I  know  he  does,"  Mrs.  Chadbow  replied.  "  I  am 
sorry,  too ;  but  I  don't  see  how  we  could  help  it.  We 
had  to  go  with  our  friends  ;  and,  as  he  could  n't  take 
us,  he  has  really  no  cause  to  complain." 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Clara;  "but  it  must  have 
cut  him.  I  didn't  think  of  it  much  at  the  time,  or  I 
would  have  stayed  at  home." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  exclaimed  her  mother.  "  The  truth 
is,  we  have  made  too  much  of  Phil.  He  is  a  bright, 
honest  fellow,  and  I  would  do  anything  to  help  him. 
He  has  been  shockingly  ill-used.  But  he  must  n't 
think,  because  we  have  befriended  him  all  along,  that 
we  are  always  going  to  sacrifice  our  own  convenience 
and  the  wishes  of  our  friends,  in  order  to  champion 
him." 

"  That  is  true,  mamma."  Clara  sighed  as  she  sat 
down  by  the  window.  "  But  I  pity  him,  alone  over 
there  in  the  barn."  She  looked  across  the  moonlit 
street  at  the  silent,  gloomy  building  farther  up,  and 
listened  to  the  crickets'  lonesome  notes.  "The  same 
men  who  burnt  his  buckboard  may  come  for  his  horse 
any  night.  I  should  think  he  would  be  afraid." 

"Yes,  he  is  young  to  go  through  with  such 
things,"  said  Mrs.  Chadbow,  taking  down  her  hair 
before  the  glass.  "He  is  a  brave  boy,  certainly.  I 
shouldn't  want  to  be  in  place  of  the  men,  if  he 


174  PHIL   AND    HIS   FRIENDS. 

catches  them.     But  come,  my  dear,  you  must  go  to 
bed." 

Despite  her  sympathy  for  Phil,  Clara  was  soon 
sleeping  soundly.  Nor  was  she  awakened  when,  an 
hour  later,  her  mother  got  up,  having  been  startled 
from  a  light  slumber  by  sounds  which  seemed  to 
come  from  the  direction  of  Mr.  Marshall's  barn. 

"  Can  those  men  be  trying  to  get  in  again  ?  "  Mrs. 
Chadbow  said  to  herself,  after  listening  a  few  moments 
at  the  window.  "  Or  did  I  dream  that  I  heard  low 
voices  and  something  like  the  rattling  of  a  door  ? " 

Whether  the  sound  was  real  or  imaginary,  it  had 
ceased.  There  was  a  cloud  over  the  moon,  but  it 
was  not  dark ;  and  now,  gazing  intently,  she  was 
sure  she  could  see  a  figure  gliding  away  from  the 
barn. 

"  Can  it  be  Phil  going  out  at  this  time  of  the 
night  ?  Poor  fellow  !  I  suppose  he  could  n't  sleep." 

The  figure  (she  was  certain  it  was  Phil)  disap 
peared  in  the  shadows  of  the  street ;  and  having 
waited  a  few  minutes  to  assure  herself  that  there  was 
to  be  no  more  disturbance,  she  went  back  to  bed. 

She  was  once  more  asleep,  and  it  must  have  been 
near  midnight  when  not  only  she,  but  Clara  also,  and 
all  the  inmates  of  the  house,  were  roused  by  wild 
cries. 


THE  FIRE.  175 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

THE    FIRE. 

r  I AHEY  were  cries  of  fire  !  Somebody  ran  by 
-*•  the  house,  shouting  the  alarm  in  those  wild 
accents  which  have  so  terrible  a  sound,  breaking 
upon  the  silence  of  the  night.  At  the  same  time  a 
bell  raised  its  iron  clamor ;  and  in  a  few  minutes  the 
whole  village  seemed  to  be  running  and  shouting. 

The  overcast  sky  was  lurid  with  a  fiery  glow  when 
Mrs.  Chadbow  looked  from  the  window.  She  feared 
first  that  Mr.  Marshall's  barn  had  been  fired,  but  a 
glance  showed  her  that  that  was  safe.  The  fire  was 
much  farther  off  than  that,  notwithstanding  the  light 
it  gave,  shedding  a  ruddy  tint  over  the  whole  street. 

"  Where  is  it  ? "  cried  Clara,  coming  to  her  moth 
er's  side  ;  and  that  was  the  question  every  one  in  the 
house  appeared  to  be  asking. 

"  It 's  in  the  direction  of  Bass's  hotel,"  somebody 
called  down  from  the  skylight.  "  It  's  a  tremendous 
blaze  ! " 


PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

Some  of  the  boarders  had  dressed  and  were  going 
out. 

"Oh,  let's  go,  too!"  Clara  exclaimed;  and,  car 
ried  away  by  the  general  excitement,  her  mother 
consented. 

"Where  's  Phil  ?  If  he  was  only  here  to  go  with 
us  !  "  she  said. 

"You  may  be  sure  he's  at  the  fire  before  this," 
Mrs.  Chadbow  replied  ;  and  so  indeed  they  found. 

They  had  joined  a  group  of  spectators  at  a  safe 
distance  from  the  burning  building,  — which  proved 
to  be  a  barn  belonging  to  the  hotel,  —  when  Clara 
saw,  farther  down  the  lighted  street,  the  face  she 
sought. 

Phil  must  also  have  seen  his  friends ;  but  perhaps 
his  recent  resentment  made  him  still  wish  to  avoid 
them,  even  at  a  time  like  that.  He  was  retiring 
behind  the  crowd,  when  she  ran  towards  him,  call 
ing,  "  Phil !  O  Phil  !  Mamma  is  looking  for  you." 

At  that  he  came  towards  her,  not  at  all  in  his 
usual  frank  and  cordial  way,  but  with  an  agitation  and 
embarrassment  which  he  tried  in  vain  to  conceal. 

"  We  wanted  you  to  come  with  us,"  she  said, 
returning  with  him  to  her  mother.  "  We  went  over 
to  the  barn  to  find  you,  but  it  was  all  dark  and  still." 

"  I  heard  the  alarm,  and  it  did  n't  take  me  long  to 


"  '  It  may  have  been  set  by  the 
other  teamsters,  —  jealous  of  hia 
buckboarda,  you  know'"  [p,177J. 


A  figure  gliding  away  "  [p.  174]. 


THE    FIRE.  I// 

run  out,"  he  replied.  "  I  did  n't  think  any  of  the 
ladies  would  want  to  come  to  the  fire." 

"  How  did  it  take  ?  "  Mrs.  Chadbow  asked. 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  "  returned  Phil. 

"  Perhaps  the  same  way  the  brush-heap  took  that 
burnt  up  your  buckboard,"  said  Clara. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  said  Phil,  giving  her  a 
quick  glance. 

"  It  may  have  been  set  by  the  other  teamsters,  — 
jealous  of  his  buckboards,  you  know";  and  Clara 
laughed. 

"  I  should  n't  wonder,"  he  replied,  with  a  ghastly 
sort  of  smile.  "  I  believe  they  're  bad  enough." 

"  I  wonder  if  the  buckboards  were  in  the  barn  ? " 
she  continued ;  "  or  if  they  took  the  trouble  to  put 
them  in  before  they  set  it  afire  ?  " 

"  Hush,  Clara !  "  said  her  mother,  severely. 

"  I  was  only  joking,  mamma." 

"  You  mustn't  say  such  things,  even  in  joke." 

"  If  the  buckboards  had  been  in  the  barn,"  said 
Drigson  the  tailor,  his  shining  face  gleaming  ex 
citedly  over  Phil's  shoulder,  "  I  guess  they  'd  have 
tried  to  git  'em  out ;  but  they  hain't  got  nothin'  out." 

"  I  trust  there  were  no  horses  in  it !  "  Mrs.  Chad- 
bow  exclaimed. 

"  Probably  not,"  said  Phil :  "  Bass  keeps  his  horses 


178  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

in  the  new  barn.  The  old  barn  was  n't  of  much 
account  any  way." 

"  It  makes  fire  enough  to  have  been  of  some  ac 
count,"  said  Mrs.  Chadbow. 

"  And  I  guess  the  insurance  company  will  think  it 
was  of  some  account  when  they  come  to  pay  for  't," 
said  the  sallow  tailor.  "  It 's  burnin'  hay  that  makes 
that  awful  smudge.  Too  bad  !  Too  bad !  Must  'a' 
been  sot ;  for  there  couldn't  'a'  been  no  honest  fire 
in  the  barn  this  time  o'  night ;  and  I  don't  believe  in 
your  spontaneous  combustion." 

"  What  are  they  trying  to  put  it  out  for  ? "  said 
Mrs.  Chadbow.  "  They  had  better  look  out  for  the 
other  buildings." 

A  small  hand-pumping  fire-engine  was  on  the  spot, 
but  the  stream  it  threw  had  no  perceptible  effect,  ex 
cept  to  add  a  small  cloud  of  steam  to  the  huge 
volume  of  smoke. 

Though  not  so  large  as  Bass's  new  barn,  it  was  a 
building  of  good  size ;  and  the  heat  it  radiated,  as 
the  part  of  the  frame  on  the  side  of  the  hotel  melted 
away  in  the  roaring  gulf,  was  something  terrific. 
There  had  not  been  much  wind  at  first,  but  now  a 
strong  breeze  sprung  up,  carrying  the  flames,  with  a 
spouting  torrent  of  burning  cinder  and  straw-flakes, 
over  towards  the  house. 


THE   FIRE.  179 

There  were  men  on  the  house-roof  with  buckets  ; 
but  they  were  soon  driven  before  the  fire.  Then  the 
engine  turned  its  stream  upon  the  most  exposed  por 
tions  of  the  hotel.  That  was  hardly  done,  however, 
when  the  well  from  which  it  had  been  drawing  was 
exhausted. 

"  No  more  water  !  "  said  Phil,  with  pallid  face  and 
rigid  lips.  "  The  hotel  will  go  !  " 

"  Oh,  that  is  too  bad ! "  exclaimed  Clara,  who,  re 
membering  Phil's  wrongs/had  not  been  so  very  sorry 
to  see  the  barn  in  flames.  "  I  always  hate  to  think 
of  families  burnt  out." 

" '  T  was  the  foolishest  thing  in  creation  !  "  cried 
the  tailor,  — "  wastin'  water  on  that  old  buildin' ; 
might  V  knowed  'twa'n't  no  use.  Now  look  a1 
there ! " 

The  roof  of  the  kitchen  part  of  the  hotel  was  be 
ginning  to  blaze.  Then  followed  scenes  of  wild  con 
fusion  and  excitement.  The  firemen,  having  run  their 
hose  to  a  neighboring  well,  and  found  insufficient 
water,  hauled  it  on  with  shouts  to  the  next ;  the  few 
guests  of  the  house  dragging  out  their  own  hurriedly 
packed  trunks  and  piling  them,  with  shawls,  bags, 
and  loose  clothing,  in  the  street ;  a  crowd  of  men 
and  boys  helping  to  remove  what  furniture  could  be 
most  conveniently  saved ;  Sallie  working  bravely 


I  SO  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

with  the  rest,  while  her  mother  ran  to  and  fro, 
shrieking  frantically,  and  Bass  roared  out  his  orders. 

Phil  did  not  join  the  volunteers  in  tumbling  out 
chairs  and  mattresses  and  pulling  up  carpets,  but 
hastened  to  fetch  his  horse  and  wagon,  and  have 
them  in  readiness  for  transporting  the  guests  to 
other  houses.  He  had  enough  to  do,  which  was  per 
haps  fortunate,  action  being  a  relief  to  his  agitated 
mind. 

Nothing  could  save  the  hotel,  and,  when  he  re 
turned  for  a  second  load  of  luggage,  he  found  the  new 
barn  also  in  flames. 

The  horses  had  been  led  out  with  blankets  flung 
over  their  heads,  and  the  best  of  the  wagons  were 
rescued,  with  the  buckboards,  —  as  Phil  did  not  fail 
to  observe.  With  what  feelings  he  viewed  the  scene 
of  desolation,  after  the  fire  had  made  a  clean  sweep 
of  the  buildings,  and  the  Basses  were  left  homeless, 
with  their  heaped  household  goods  lighted  by  the 
dying  flames  under  a  lurid  sky,  never  can  be  known. 


ACCUSATIONS.  l8l 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

ACCUSATIONS. 

TV  f  RS.  CHADBOW   and    Clara   had   gone   home 

^  while  the  hotel  was  burning,  and  they  did 
not  see  Phil  again  until  the  next  day.  Even  then 
he  gave  them  no  opportunity  to  speak  with  him,  but 
remained  solitary,  absorbed,  and  silent,  at  a  time 
when  the  general  excitement  brought  people  together 
and  impelled  the  most  unsocial  to  open  their  hearts. 

"  I  want  to  ask  him  just  one  question,"  Mrs.  Chad- 
bow  said,  with  quiet  significance  ;  but  she  would  not 
tell  Clara  what  it  was,  and  she  was  too  discreet  to 
mention  to  anybody  but  Phil  himself  what  she  had 
observed  that  night  from  her  window  an  hour  before 
the  alarm. 

The  origin  of  the  fire  was  a  mystery.  Bass  de 
clared  that  he  himself  shut  the  barn  at  nine  o'clock, 
leaving  everything  safe  ;  and  nobody  belonging  to  the 
hotel  was  believed  to  have  entered  it  afterwards. 

"  I  know  who  sot  it !  "  he  loudly  declared  to  every 
body.  "  I  ain't  a  gunter  say  who  't  is  ;  but  it 's  some- 


1 82  PHIL   AND   HIS    FRIENDS. 

body  't  thinks  I  had  a  hand  in  burnin'  his  prope'ty, 
which  I  had  n't.  I  ain't  a  gunter  call  no  names."  And 
he  rolled  over  from  one  leg  to  the  other  in  a  very 
excited  manner. 

With  Mr.  Minkins,  who  was  the  local  agent  of  the 
company  that  had  insured  Bass's  property,  he  was 
more  explicit.  He  not  only  called  names,  but  in 
sisted  that  Phil  should  be  arrested. 

"  We  '11  have  him  arrested,"  said  Minkins,  "  soon 
as  ever  we  get  evidence  that  '11  justify  makin'  out  a 
complaint." 

"  But  don't  your  own  common-sense  show  ye  that 
he  done  it  ? "  cried  Bass.  "  Ain't  that  evidence  ? " 

"  Wai,  not  precisely.  We  may  think  he  had  a 
motive  for  doin'  it,  jest  as  some  other  folks  'sides 
him  s'pected  you  had  a  motive  for  deprivin'  him  of 
his  buckboard.  But  re'ly,  Sol,"  Minkins  added,  con 
fidentially,  "I  don't  see's  there's  any  more  proof, — 
I  mean  the  genooine  article  that  '11  hold  water,  — 
not  a  whit  more  actooal  proof  't  he  destroyed  your 
property  than  that  you  destroyed  hisn." 

"  That 's  a  strange  way  o'  lookin'  at  it !  'T  ain't 
common-sense  !  "  said  Bass. 

"  I  ruther  guess  you  '11  find  it  is,"  replied  Minkins  ; 
"an'  't  most  people  '11  look  at  it  in  jest  that  strange 
sort  o'  way.  An'  my  advice  to  you  is,  if  you  're  re'ly 


ACCUSATIONS.  183 

as  much  in  earnest  to  find  out  who  done  it  as  I  be, 
and  as  the  comp'ny  '11  be,  my  advice  is,  to  jest 
keep  quiet  till  ye  have  some  proof,  and  not  go  up 
an'  down  accusin'  folks  without  no  evidence." 

It  was  hard  for  Bass  to  accept  any  such  advice  as 
that.  He  was  starting  to  go,  but  turned  back. 

"I  s'pose  they  won't  be  no  trouble  'bout  gittin 
my  insurance  ?  "  he  suggested. 

"  I  don't  know  why  they  should  be,"  Minkins 
answered,  promptly.  "  Your  policy  is  all  right,  and 
you  are  burnt  out.  The  only  question  will  be  about 
the  amount  of  damages.  As  it 's  a  ruther  important 
case,  I  Ve  notified  the  comp'ny  't  they  'd  better  send 
up  a  special  agent,  an'  I  hope  he  '11  be  here  in  a  day 
or  two." 

Bass  looked  disappointed.  "  I  hoped  me  an'  you  'd 
be  able  to  settle  damages  without  no  special  agent, 
—  neighbors  so,"  he  said. 

"That's  jest  the  reason  why  I  think  the  agent 
better  come  up,"  Minkins  replied.  "  If  you  make 
out  a  perty  big  claim  and  I  'low  it,  it  '11  likely  be 
said  I  done  it  coz  we  was  neighbors.  If  the  agent 
don't  come,  then  we  '11  see." 

A  determination  to  claim  excessive  damages,  which 
Bass  had  already  betrayed,  and  the  necessity  every 
neighbor  felt  of  keeping  on  good  terms  with  such  a 


184  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

man,  were  the  chief  reasons  why  Minkins  had  not 
only  sent  for  the  agent  but  strongly  urged  his 
coming. 

Solomon  had  hardly  gone  out  of  the  store  when 
Drigson  the  tailor  walked  over  from  the  shop  with 
out  his  hat,  and  put  his  shining  bald  head  and  skinny 
face  in  at  the  door. 

"  All  alone  ? "  he  said  to  Minkins,  after  looking 
cautiously  around. 

"  All  alone,"  replied  the  good-natured  storekeeper. 
"  Come  in  ;  but  I  would  n't  shet  the  door." 

"Yes,  le'  me  shet  it,"  said  Drigson,  nervously. 
"  I  Ve  been  waitin'  to  find  ye  alone.  I  've  got  suthin 
on  my  mind.  I  Ve  got  suthin  on  my  mind,  Neighbor 
Minkins  !  " 

"  Have  ye,  Jonathan  ? "  Minkins  smiled  indul 
gently,  knowing  the  tailor  to  be  a  nervous  sort  of 
man,  and  stepped  to  open  the  door  again,  it  being  a 
warm  afternoon.  "Nothin'  that  concerns  me  though, 
I  s'pose." 

"  I  guess  you  '11  say  it  concerns  you,"  Drigson  re 
plied,  pale  and  scant  of  breath.  "  You  can  open  the 
door  ag'in  if  you  wanter,  for  it 's  your  premises  and 
not  mine  ;  but  one  word  fust." 

"All  right,"  said  Minkins,  with  his  hand  on  the 
latch. 


ACCUSATIONS.  185 

Drigson  looked  around  again,  then,  laying  hold  of 
Minkins's  arm  with  his  bony  ringers,  and  putting  his 
thin  lips  to  his  ear,  said  in  a  hoarse  whisper,  — 

"  I  know  who  sot  the  fire  ! " 

"  You  know  !  "  ejaculated  Minkins. 

"I  know;  I  wish  I  didn't.  I  don't  wanter  git 
mixed  up  in  the  thing ;  but  I  felt  I  oughter  tell  ye. 
I  seen  him  do  it ;  or  not  exactly  do  it,  but  I  seen 
him  go  for  to  do  it." 

"  When  ?     Who  ? " 

"  That  night,  a  little  while  'fore  the  fire  broke  out, 
I  seen  him  sly  into  the  barn.  Somebody  else  seen 
him,  too.  If  you  won't  open  the  door,  I  '11  tell  ye." 

This,  then,  is  the  story  which  Drigson  the  tailor 
told. 

"  Ye  see,  I  've  been  kin'  o'  lonesome  sence  my 
wife  died,  and  I  don't  mind  tellin'  ye  in  confi 
dence,  Neighbor  Minkins,  I  've  been  keepin'  my 
eyes  open  for  another  companion,  and  latterly  I  've 
ruther  got  my  feelin's  concentrated  on  to  Betsy 
Doane." 

"  Ye  might  'a'  made  a  wus  choice,"  said  the  store 
keeper,  encouragingly,  as  the  tailor  hesitated.  "I 
hope  she  recipercates." 

"  Wai,  she  doos  in  a  measure,"  replied  Drigson ; 
"  but  there  's  an  obstacle." 


1 86  PHIL   AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

As  he  at  the  same  time  passed  his  bony  fingers 
over  his  bald  scalp,  Minkins  inferred  that  the  trouble 
lay  perhaps  in  what  may  be  called  his  lack  of 
capillary  attraction. 

"  Baldness  ?"  he  suggested. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said,  Drigson,  looking  up  with  a  sallow 
smile  ;  "  not  baldness,  but  Bass." 

"  Bass  !     How  so  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  Neighbor  Minkins.  I  ain't  so  young  as  I 
once  was,  —  but  neither  is  Betsy  a  girl  in  her  teens. 
She  don't  make  any  great  objection  either  to  my 
humble  person  or  little  bit  of  property,  but  the 
obstacle,  as  I  tell  ye,  is  Solomon  Bass.  She  has 
worked  for  him  so  long,  he  's  re'ly  got  to  feel  't  he 
sort  o'  owns  her,  and  I  don't  know  but  he'd  break 
my  head  if  he  knew  I  was  goin'  to  take  her  away." 

"I  see,"  said  Minkins;  "but  come  to  the  p'int," 
impatiently. 

"  The  result  has  been,"  Drigson  went  on,  "  't  I  Ve 
courted  Betsy  a  little  on  the  sly,  and  that 's  how  it 
happened.  I  walked  home  with  her  that  night,  and 
was  standin'  in  the  kitchen  door  with  her  for  some 
time  after  'leven  o'clock.  We  thought  everybody  in 
the  house  was  abed  and  asleep,  and  we  was  havin'  our 
little  last  words  when  we  heard  somebody  comin',  kin' 
o'  creepin'  along,  from  the  side  door  o'  the  hotel." 


ACCUSATIONS.  l8/ 

"  Was  it  dark  ? "  Minkins  asked. 

"  Not  so  dark  but  what  I  knew,  almost  without 
lookin',  who  't  was.  There  was  clouds  overhead,  ye 
know,  but  there  was  a  moon  above  the  clouds.  I 
was  scaret,  I  confess,  and  I  slunk  further  into  the 
doorway  with  Betsy,  so  's  not  to  be  seen." 

"  What  was  ye  scaret  at  ?  If  't  was  the  boy  I  sup 
pose,  I  don't  see  what  there  was  about  him  to  scare 
even  a  more  fidgety  man  than  you  be,  Jonathan." 

"  Boy  !  "  cried  Jonathan.  "  'T  wa'  n't  no  boy,  le'  me 
tell  ye  !  'Twas  a  man.  Sol  Bass." 

Minkins  leaned  back  against  the  counter  and 
stared  at  the  lean  tailor. 

"Sol  himself,"  Drigson  avowed.  "  I  waited  till  he 
got  past ;  then  I  peeped  out,  and  seen  him  go  softly 
and  open  the  little  door  of  the  old  barn  and  go  in. 
There  was  such  a  mystery  about  his  movements,  and 
it  seemed  to  me  so  strange  't  he  should  be  stealin* 
into  his  own  barn  at  that  time  o'  night,  I  was  more 
stirred  up  in  my  mind  than  ever ;  for  I  declare,  if  I 
did  n't  think  for  a  second  he  was  after  a  hosswhip  to 
stripe  my  coat  with." 

"  Did  you  see  him  come  out  ag'in  ? "  Minkins  in 
quired. 

"  Course  not.  I  run  and  cut  behind  the  house,  and 
took  to  my  heels  acrost  the  orchard  double-quick ! 


1 88  PHIL   AND    HIS    FRIENDS, 

I  had  n't  more  'n  got  home,  and  quiet  in  bed,  when 
the  fire  broke  out." 

"  This 's  a  very  extraordinary  story!  '  said  the 
astonished  and  puzzled  storekeeper.  "  You  done 
right  to  come  and  tell  me,  for  it  '11  prevent  suspicion 
from  fallin'  on  to  the  wrong  person.  I  never  did 
take  much  stock  in  Sol  Bass ;  but  I  did  n't  think 
he  was  a  man  to  burn  up  his  buildin's  to  git  the 
insurance." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Jonathan  Drigson.  "  And  I  might 
think  there  was  some  mistake  about  it  if  he  had  n't 
told  everybody  he  did  n't  go  to  his  barn  after  nine 
o'clock.  Why  should  he  say  that  ?  And  't  was  so 
short  a  time  after  he  went  in  that  the  fire  broke  out, 
I  could  n't  help  thinkin'  he  sot  it." 

"  It  certain  looks  like  it,"  said  Minkins  ;  "  but  say 
nothin'  to  nobody  till  the  insurance  comp'ny's  agent 
comes.  Then  we  '11  look  after  Sol  Bass." 

"  But  don't  lug  me  and  Betsy  in,"  pleaded  the 
timid  tailor. 

"Of  course  not,  without  we're  obliged  to,"  replied 
Minkins. 

A  week  passed,  during  which  time  the  tavern- 
keeper  —  who  had  now  no  tavern  to  keep  —  heard 
nothing  of  the  special  agent.  Again  and  again  he 
urged  Minkins,  in  a  most  anxious  and  persistent  way, 


ACCUSATIONS.  189 

"  Le  's  settle  it  'twixt  ourselves,  like  neighbors."    But 
Minkins  had  as  constantly  put  him  off. 

"  I  've  got  a  letter,  savin'  the  agent  '11  be  here  jest 
as  soon  as  he  can  get  around,"  was  his  final  excuse. 
"  So  I  don't  see  but  what  we  shall  have  to  wait." 


PHIL  AND   HIS   FRIENDS. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

THE    MAN    WITH    THE    GRAY    WHISKERS. 

MEANWHILE  a  new-comer  at  one  of  the  board 
ing-houses  patronized  all  the  drivers  in  turn, 
from  slab-sided  Lorson  down  to  little  Phil.  He  was 
a  middle-aged  man,  with  iron-gray  whiskers,  pleasant 
manners,  and  a  lively  curiosity  regarding  everything 
and  everybody  in  and  about  the  village. 

He  got  acquainted  with  Bass  while  waiting  for 
Lorson  to  "  hook  on  to  the  one-hoss  buckboard"  at 
the  old  farm-house  where  Solomon  had  got  partial 
shelter  for  his  family  and  his  teams.  He  got  still 
better  acquainted  with  Lorson  during  their  long  ride 
to  the  Summit.  The  drivers  all  found  him  delight 
fully  sociable  and  familiar,  and  talked  freely  with  him 
about  the  late  exciting  occurrences  in  the  village. 

Phil  had  not  for  a  long  time  had  a  passenger  he 
liked  so  well.  Before  he  knew  it,  he  found  himself 
telling  the  story  of  his  troubles  with  Bass  and  the 
burning  of  his  buckboard,  —  not  without  passionate 


THE   MAN   WITH   THE   GRAY   WHISKERS.  IQI 

swellings   of   the   heart   and    tremors    of   the  voice, 
excited  by  the  stranger's  sympathy. 

Then  one  day  this  aimable  gentleman  dropped  into 
Mr.  Minkins's  store,  and  they  walked  over  together 
to  the  house  where  Bass  was  staying. 

They  found  Bass  sitting  on  a  wagon-neap,  looking 
glum  at  the  prospect  of  things  ;  but  he  brightened  at 
sight  of  the  stranger,  who  was  known  to  employ 
teams. 

"  Mr.  Bass,"  said  the  smiling  Minkins,  "  I  wanter 
interdooce  you  to  Mr.  Crosby.  Mr.  Crosby,  Mr. 
Bass." 

"I  believe  we  have  met  before,"  said  Mr.  Crosby, 
extending  his  hand. 

Bass  rolled  off  from  the  wagon-pole  upon  his  feet 
and  reached  out  his  fat  hand,  with,  "  Yaas,  I  Ve  had 
the  pleasure." 

"  I  want  you  to  be  better  acquainted,"  said  Min- 
kms.  "Mr.  Crosby"  —  smiling  very  sweetly  on 
Bass  —  "  is  the  special  agent  of  the  Insurance 
Comp'ny." 

Bass's  hand  dropped  to  his  side,  and  he  changed 
countenance  perceptibly  as  he  stammered,  — 
.    "  I  don't  —  I   did  n't    know  —  I    had  n't   the  least 
idee  !     Why  did  n't  you  tell  me  that  before  ?  " 

"  It 's  a  pleasant  place,  and  I  thought  I  would  look 


IQ2  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

around  a  little  before  settling  down  to  business,"  the 
agent  replied.  "  Besides,  I  thought  I  could  learn  as 
much  of  what  it 's  my  business  to  find  out  in  that 
way  as  in  any  other." 

Lorson,  who  had  come  out  of  the  barn  in  time  to 
overhear  the  conversation,  recalled  his  perhaps  too 
familiar  talk  with  this  man,  and  gave  him  an  anxious 
glance.  Mr.  Crosby  did  not  appear  to  notice  him, 
but  went  on,  — 

"You've  met  with  a  serious  loss,  Mr.  Bass,  and 
some  preliminary  investigation,  under  the  circum 
stances,  appeared  necessary.  Don't  leave  your  seat ; 
we  can  sit  and  talk  just  as  well  here  as  anywhere." 

The  wagon-tongue  being  supported  at  the  end,  he 
sat  down  on  it  in  a  familiar  sort  of  way,  and,  taking 
out  his  knife,  began  to  split  a  straw. 

Bass  sat  down  to  it  looking  very  uneasy  ;  and  they 
began  to  talk  of  the  fire,  while  Minkins  smilingly 
withdrew. 

The  agent  heard  all  Bass  had  to  say  with  quiet 
assent  ;  and  having  cut  up  one  straw,  began  on 
another.  Solomon  had  gained  confidence  as  he  went 
on,  no  doubt  relieved  to  find  that  the  agent,  whom 
he  had  dreaded  to  see,  was  after  all  so  reasonable  a 
man. 

Mr.   Crosby   then    asked    a   few   mildly  searching 


THE    MAN    WITH    THE    GRAY    WHISKERS.  193 

questions,  especiaHy  with  regard  to  the  origin  of  the 
fire.  Having  answered  them  with  some  excitement 
of  manner,  Solomon  said,  — 

"  I  Ve  told  you  all  I  know,  and  what  I  think.  Now 
tell  me  what  you  think." 

"  About  "  —  the  agent  reached  for  a  fragment  of 
straw  that  had  fallen  upon  the  ground  —  "  the  origin 
of  the  —  fire  ? " 

"  Yaas,"  said  Bass,  with  trembling  interest.  "Who 
sot  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  Mr.  Bass,  since  you  ask  my  opinion,"  —  the 
agent  was  dividing  the  fragment  very  carefully, — 
"I  suppose  I  must  tell  you." 

"  You  think  the  boy  sot  it  ? "  said  Bass,  almost  too 
eagerly. 

"No,  Mr.  Bass."  The  agent  turned  and  looked 
him  quietly  in  the  face.  "I  think  you  set  it." 

He  did  not  raise  his  voice  in  the  least,  but  spoke 
very  much  as  if  he  had  been  disagreeing  with  Bass 
about  the  weather  they  might  expect  to-morrow. 

This  calmness  of  tone  made  the  effect  on  Bass 
appear  all  the  more  surprising  to  Lorson,  peeping 
from  the  barn.  Usually  so  violent  and  overbearing 
when  crossed  in  his  plans  or  opposed  in  his  opinions, 
that  rotund,  puffy-cheeked  man  seemed  for  a  moment 
struck  dumb.  He  opened  his  mouth,  but  it  gave  no 

13 


194  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

more  sound  than  if  h^  had  been  a  fish  ;  and  he  turned 
his  pig  eyes  on  the  agent  in  helpless  fright  and 
bewi  derment. 

At  length  he  stuttered  out,  "  Wh-what  do  ye  think 
—  I  should  want  to  —  burn  up  my  own  prope'ty 
for  ?  " 

The  agent  brushed  away  the  pieces  of  straw  from 
his  knees,  and  shutting  his  knife  with  a  decided 
click,  returned  it  to  his  pocket;  he  had  finished 
splitting  straws. 

"  I  suppose  I  can  answer  that  question,  too,  since 
you  ask  me.  In  the  first  place,  I  don't  think  you  in 
tended  to  burn  quite  so  much  property.  You  had 
reason  to  expect  that  the  house  and  the  new  barn 
would  be  saved.  But  the  old  barn  was  in  your  way, 
as  you  have  more  than  once  been  heard  to  declare. 
It  was  insured  for  more  than  it  was  worth,  no  repairs 
having  been  made  on  it  since  you  took  out  your  first 
policy.  It  did  not  contain  more  than  half  as  much 
hay  as  you  claim.  The  wagons  that  were  burnt  in  it 
might  have  been  got  out ;  but  you  left  them  to  burn. 
They  were  insured,  too,  for  double  their  value,  con 
sidering  that  you  were  anxious  to  get  rid  of  them,  as 
you  have  many  times  said,  in  order  to  get  buckboards, 
or  more  attractive  and  stylish  modern  vehicles." 

Bass  had  by  this  time  got  up  from  the -neap,  and 


THE    MAN    WITH   THE    GRAY    WHISKERS.  1 95 

was  rolling  from  one  leg  to  the  other,  as  if  he  had 
been  standing  with  bare  feet  on  hot  bricks. 

"  It 's  all  a  lie  ! "  he  burst  forth,  with  fierce  ges 
tures  ;  "  invented  for  to  ruin  me.  I  tell  ye  the  boy 
sot  it  !  " 

The  agent  also  rose,  though  his  voice  did  not.  He 
stood  facing  the  excited  man,  and  went  on  calmly, — 

"  I  Ve  no  doubt  one  of  your  motives  in  setting  the 
fire  was  to  have  suspicion  rest  on  the  boy  you  hate 
so  and  have  tried  to  ruin.  I  wish,  Mr.  Bass,  I  could 
be  as  sure  you  did  n't  fire  your  barn  as  I  am  that  he 
did  n't  burn  his  buckboard.  But  my  conviction  is 
that  the  same  man  who  was  at  the  bottom  of  that 
business  had  a  hand  in  this." 

The  poor,  stupid,  scared,  half-maddened  creature 
thereupon  injured  his  own  cause  by  swearing  that  he 
had  nothing  to  do  with  the  burning  of  Phil's  buck- 
board,  and  defying  any  one  to  prove  the  contrary. 

"  Unluckily  for  the  boy,  proof  is  wanting  in  that 
case,"  said  the  agent;  "luckily  for  us,  however,  it 
is  not  wanting  in  this.  The  fact  that  the  accident 
occurred  near  the  close  of  your  busy  season  —  at  a 
time  when  well-insured  summer-hotel  property  is  so 
extremely  apt  to  burn  —  is,  of  course,  only  a  corrobo 
rative  circumstance ;  but  the  fact  that  you  were  seen 
by  two  witnesses  to  steal  into  the  old  barn  that  night 


196  -  PKIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

just  before  the  fire  broke  out,  —  after  eleven  o'clock, 
—  while  you  say  you  did  not  visit  it  after  you  shut 
it  up  at  nine,  —  that,"  said  the  agent,  clapping  the 
palm  of  one  hand  with  three  fingers  of  the  other 
very  positively,  "  that  we  consider  proof." 

"  Seen  ?  Me  ?  Seen  stealin'  into  the  barn  after 
'leven  ?  It's  all  a  lie,  I  tell  ye,  and  a  conspiracy  to 
ruin  me!"  said  Bass,  in  terrible  agitation.  "Now 
don't,  I  beg  of 'ye  !  "  he  pleaded.  "  Have  mercy  on  a 
poor  man  ! " 

"  I  don't  intend  to  be  any  harder  on  you  than  I  am 
obliged  to  be  in  my  position,"  Mr.  Crosby  replied, 
watching  him  closely.  "  I  have  no  personal  interest 
in  the  matter  one  way  or  the  other.  It 's  my  busi 
ness  to  do  justice  to  you  as  well  as  to  the  company." 

"  Look  here  !  "  said  Bass.  "  It 's  a  terrible  thing  ! 
I  can't  stand  it.  What  you  say  shows  me  I  may  be 
in  your  power,  though  I  am  an  innocent  man ;  you 
may  beat  me  out  of  my  insurance  money,  and  make 
paupers  of  us  all,  'sides  givin'  me  a  repetation  no 
man  wants  to  have.  Now  don't.  I  '11  do  the  hancl_ 
some  thing  by  ye  if  you'll  be  easy  with  me;  I  will." 

Innocent  or  guilty,  Solomon  was  injuring  his  cause 
still  more  by  holding  out  the  offer  of  a  bribe  to  a 
man  like  Crosby.  He  made  no  reply,  but  seemed 
about  to  go. 


"  '  You  won't  go  to  prosecutin'  me  ?  '  "  f  p.  197]. 


THE    MAN    WITH    THE    GRAY    WHISKERS.  IQ/ 

"  What  ye  go'n'  to  do  ? "  Bass  entreated  to  know. 
"  You  won't  go  to  prosecutin'  me  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  about  that ;  it  depends,"  answered 
the  agent,  coldly. 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?  "  cried  Bass. 

"I  want  you  to  give  me  up  your  policies,"  said 
the  agent. 

"  My  insurance  policies,  without  gitt'n'  my  insur 
ance,  nor  any  part  on  't  ?  You  can't  mean  that ! " 
exclaimed  Bass. 

"Yes,  that's  just  what  I  mean.  Your  claim  is 
exorbitant,  anyway;  and  if  you  fired  the  barn,  as  I 
firmly  believe  you  did,  you  are  not  entitled  to  a  cent. 
More  than  that,  you  deserve  to  be  made  an  example 
of." 

"But  I  tell  ye  I  didn't!"  said  Bass,  in  abject  ter 
ror.  "  My  claim  may  be  too  much  for  the  hay  ;  and 
I  won't  say  a  word  about  the  old  wagons  if  you  think 
I  could  'a'  saved  'em  and  did  n't.  Have  it  your  own 
way,  squire,  about  them  ;  but  don't  hold  back  what 's 
payable  on  the  buildin's,  nor  accuse  me  of  firm'  on 
'em.  Who  says  I  went  into  the  barn  after  'leven 
o'clock  that  night  ?  I  'd  jest  like  to  know  who  ever 
started  that  story  !  " 

"  I  can't  tell  you  just  now,"  said  the  agent,"  but  you 
will  be  confronted  with  those  witnesses  in  due  time." 


198  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

He  was  going.     Bass  followed  him  into  the  street. 

"  Don't  do  anything  in  a  hurry.  Give  me  time  to 
think  it  over,  —  time  to  consult  a  lawyer." 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  have  you  consult  a  lawyer, 
Mr  Bass ;  for,  if  he  is  honest,  and  you  tell  him  the 
whole  story,  I  'm  sure  he  will  advise  you  that  the 
easiest  way  out  of  this  business  is  for  you  to  hand 
me  over  those  policies.  I  '11  see  you  again  to-morrow." 

Saying  this  in  a  kind,  but  decided  manner,  the  special 
agent  took  leave,  while  Bass  hurried  back  to  Lorson. 

"  What  you  been  tellin'  him,  you  traitor  ? " 

"  Nothin'  pa'tic'ler,"  said  the  teamster.  "  I  'd  no  idee 
he  was  the  agent  or  I  would  n't  'a'  said  anything." 

"  'T  was  you  that  told  him  about  the  hay,"  cried 
Solomon,  "  and  the  wagons.  What  if  I  did  say 
leave  'em  be,  when  there  was  other  things  to  be 
looked  after  ?  Why  must  you  go  and  blab  ?  You  Ve 
ruined  me,  you  scoundrel !  " 

"  Don't  call  me  a  scoundrel ! "  replied  the  slab- 
sided  one,  resentfully.  "I  hain't  ruined  you;  't ain't 
me,  I'd  have  ye  know,  —  but  I  can  do  my  share 
towards  it  if  you  provoke  me  !  " 

He  threw  down  a  horse  collar  he  held  in  his  hand, 
with  an  angry  gesture,  as  if  about  to  strike  work  and 
set  up  the  ruining  business  at  once  ;  whereupon  poor 
Bass  humbled  himself  even  to  him,  begging  him  to 
stay  and  be  his  friend. 


PHILS   SECRET.  199 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 
PHIL'S  SECRET. 

IF  Phil  had  not  revenge  enough  already,  his  cup 
should  have  been  pretty  well  filled,  one  would 
think,  when  he  heard  of  this  new  calamity  which 
threatened  to  overwhelm  his  enemy.  For  hear  of  it  he 
did  very  soon.  Everybody  heard  of  it.  Yet  when  the 
startling  rumor  spread,  that  Bass  would  not  only  lose 
his  insurance,  but  that  he  might  also  be  convicted 
of  firing  his  own  buildings,  there  was  nobody  so 
astonished  as  Phil. 

It  really  troubled  him  at  first  far  more  than  it 
delighted  him.  Even  when  it  became  the  village  talk, 
and  the  wary  Minkins  confirmed  it,  the  mind  and 
conscience  of  the  boy  were  in  such  a  dizzy  whirl 
that  he  could  hardly  have  told  whether  he  was  more 
rejoiced  or  alarmed.  There  seemed  to  be  every  rea 
son  why  he  should  feel  relieved,  even  though  he  had 
had  no  hate  to  gratify ;  for  he  must  have  known  that 
he  himself  had  been  an  object  of  suspicion. 

He  tried  to  harden  his  heart,  and  said  many  times 


2OO  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

to  himself,  with  angry  vehemence,  "  Good  enough  for 
him  :  he  deserves  it  anyway  !  "  At  the  same  time  he 
carried  his  head  high,  and  met  the  eyes  of  people 
with  resolute  defiance  ;  but  all  the  while  secret  re 
morse  and  anxiety  filled  his  soul. 

There  was  one  person,  however,  who  experienced 
a  pure  and  profound  satisfaction  upon  hearing  that  it 
was  Bass  himself  who  set  the  fire.  That  person  was 
Mrs.  Chadbow. 

"  Now  I  '11  tell  you  the  truth  about  it,"  she  said  to 
Clara,  who  had  known  all  along  that  her  mother 
cherished  some  dark  thoughts  regarding  Phil.  "  I 
have  suspected  him,  —  I  have  more  than  suspected 
him,  —  I  am  sorry  to  say.  I  have  done  him  a  great 
wrong." 

"  How  could  you  ?  "  said  Clara,  reproachfully.  "  You 
might  have  known  Phil  could  n't  do  such  a  thing  as 
that." 

"I  wasn't  willing  to  believe  he  could;  but  we 
don't  know  to  what  extremes  of  desperate  conduct 
even  a  good-hearted  boy  may  be  drive  ~  I  saw  him 
capable  of  showing  resentment  even  to  us.  Then 
we  all  noticed  how  strangely  he  acted  just  after  the 
fire.  He  had  something  on  his  mind,  and  he  has  n't 
got  quite  free  from  it  yet ;  but  I  am  glad  to  know  it 
was  n't  what  I  thought." 


PHIL'S  SECRET.  20 1 


"  You  said  you  wanted  to  ask  him  a  question ; 
what  was  it?" 

"  I  am  very  sure,"  replied  the  mother,  "  that  I  saw 
him  go  out  of  Mr.  Marshall's  barn  in  the  direction  of 
Bass's  tavern  that  night,  not  long  before  the  fire 
broke  out.  I  wanted  to  ask  him  where  he  went,  but 
I  never  did.  I  had  no  chance  for  a  day  or  two,  — 
and  then  I  dreaded  to  have  my  worst  fears  confirmed. 
Of  course,  I  never  mentioned  the  circumstance  to 
anybody  else  ;  and  yet  I  feel  now  that  I  owe  the  boy 
a  great  deal  for  having  done  him  such  injustice.  I 
must  make  him  a  present." 

"  He  wants  a  watch  more  than  anything.  I  have 
heard  him  say  so,"  said  Clara. 

"That's  just  what  I  have  been  thinking  of," 
replied  her  mother.  "  I  believe  I  will  send  for  one 
this  very  day." 

Since  the  time  when  they  had  so  offended  Phil  by 
making  the  trip  to  the  Summit  on  Bass's  buckboard, 
they  had  not  ridden  at  all ;  but  not  long  after  this 
they  re-engaged  Phil  for  an  afternoon.  Having 
keenly  felt  Mrs.  Chadbow's  coldness  towards  him, 
and  his  separation  from  Clara,  the  boy  was  all  the 
more  deeply  touched  by  their  extreme  kindness  to 
him  that  day.  And  when,  standing  amid  the  great 
trunks  of  Cathedral  Woods,  to  which  they  drove,  the 


2O2  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

mother  slipped  something  into  his  vest-pocket,  while 
the  daughter  held  her  hands  over  his  eyes,  and 
it  turned  out  to  be  a  watch,  he  was  completely 
overcome. 

"  The  case  is  nothing  but  silver,  as  you  see,"  said 
Mrs.  Chadbow,  as  he  held  it  out  before  his  surprised 
and  tearful  eyes  ;  "  but  the  works  are  as  good  as  if 
it  was  gold.  What  you  need,  Phil,  is  a  good  time 
piece,  rather  than  anything  showy;  that's  what 
Clara  and  I  both  thought." 

"  It  is  handsome,  —  too  handsome  !  "  exclaimed 
Phil.  "  I  don't  know  what  you  should  give  it  to  me 
for.  I  don't  deserve  it ! " 

"  Don't  say  that,  Phil :  you  have  been  very  kind 
to  us  in  many  ways  ;  and  I  have  not  always  been  so 
kind  to  you  as  I  might  have  been " ;  and,  as  if  to 
avoid  further  thanks  on  his  part,  or  explanations  on 
hers,  Mrs.  Chadbow  fell  to  gathering  ferns  in  the 
great  woods. 

"What  does  she  mean  by  that"?  Phil  said  to 
Clara,  as  he  stood  trying  to  reconcile  his  conscience 
to  the  watch.  "  She  has  always  been  kind  to  me. 
It's  I  who  have  appeared  cold  and  ungrateful." 

"That  has  been  because  you  were  so  full  of 
trouble,  which  made  you  too  sensitive,  perhaps," 
replied  Clara.  "  We  understand  that." 


PHIL'S  SECRET.  203 

Phil  felt  strangely  impelled  then  and  there  to  cry 
out,  "  No,  no !  you  don't  understand  !  "  and  to  tell  her 
his  dreadful  secret.  It  might  have  saved  him  some 
agonies  of  soul  if  he  had  done  so.  He  looked  at  her, 
so  innocent  and  trustful,  then  at  the  bright  new 
watch  he  held  in  his  hand,  and  compressed  his  quiv 
ering  lips. 

"  We  were  so  glad  to  know,"  she  went  on,  "  that 
it  was  Bass  himself  who  set  the  fire.  You  must  have 
been  glad.  Mother  says  it  is  always  a  great  satisfac 
tion  to  have  the  real  authors  of  such  wickedness 
known,  so  that  innocent  persons  may  not  be  sus 
pected.  That  is  a  terrible  thing !  " 

"  Terrible  ! "  Phil  echoed,  faintly,  after  a  pause, 
during  which  his  trembling  fingers  fumbled  with  the 
simple  watch-guard.  Then,  perceiving  her  eyes 
fixed  on  him  with  an  emotion  which  he  mistook, 
he  rallied  and  said,  "  I  thought  —  I  imagined  —  your 
mother  suspected  me." 

"  Oh ! "  exclaimed  Clara,  with  generous  feeling. 
"  She  never  really  believed  you  could  do  such  a  thing. 
But  —  I  don't  know  but  she  would  box  my  ears  for 
telling  you  this,"  lowering  her  voice,  while  her 
eyes  followed  her  mother  stooping  among  the  shady 
undergrowth s  not  far  off. 

"  What  ? "  Phil  demanded,  anxiously,  as  she  hesi 
tated. 


2O4  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

"  She  saw  you  go  out  of  Mr.  Marshall's  barn  that 
night  just  before  the  fire." 

Phil  turned  pale.  "  Me  ?  "  he  faltered,  with  a  sickly 
attempt  to  appear  surprised. 

"  She  was  quite  sure  it  was  you  ;  but  she  was 
careful  not  to  mention  it,  even  to  me,  until  it  became 
known  that  Bass  burnt  his  own  buildings,  and  there 
was  no  danger  of  any  one  else  being  suspected." 

Phil  made  no   reply,  but  abruptly  hid  his  face  by 

•* 

stooping  to  pick  a  fern.  He  did  not  quite  recover 
from  his  agitation  while  they  remained  in  the  woods  ; 
and,  though  his  spirits  rallied  on  the  homeward 
drive,  he  had  frequent  fits  of  abstraction,  which,  he 
knew,  must  appear  strange  to  his  friends. 

To  mask  his  disturbing  thoughts,  and  perhaps 
drive  them  from  his  mind,  he  took  out  the  watch  and 
praised  it,  and  said,  with  a  laugh,  — 

"  I  hope  no  such  accident  will  happen  to  this 
present,  Mrs.  Chadbow,  as  happened  to  the  one 
you  gave  me  last  year.  You  remember  the  blue 
necktie?" 

Of  course  she  remembered  it ;  and  of  course  she 
and  Clara  had  wondered  not  a  little  that  they  never 
saw  him  wear  it.  He  now  for  the  first  time  told 
them  the  story  of  the  misadventure  by  which  he  lost 
it,  passing  over  Miss  Sallie  Bass's  particular  jealousy 


PHIL'S  SECRET.  205 

of    Clara,    however,    while   vividly   portraying    that 

young  lady's  capriciousness  of  temper. 

His  amusing  description  was  just  finished  as  they 

reached    Mrs.    Shedrick's    door,    when     Clara   said, 

laughingly,  — 

"  Don't  let  Miss  Bass  get  hold  of  the  watch." 

"  No  danger  of  that ;  I  never  see  her  nowadays," 

he  replied,  little  dreaming  how  near  the  tomboy  was 

then. 


2O6  PHIL.   AND    HIS   FRIENDS. 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

MISS    BASS    ONCE    MORE. 

T)HIL  stepped  from  his  wagon  at  the  barn,  and 
-*>  was  startled  at  seeing  a  figure  rise  up  and  ad 
vance  from  a  corner  within.  His  first  thought  was 
of  his  father,  whose  reappearance  he  constantly 
feared.  But  a  glance  showed  him  that  the  figure 
was  not  that  of  a  man  at  all,  but  a  woman,  or,  rather, 
a  tall  girl,  with  red  hair  and  a  mouth  curtained  with 
large  upper  teeth. 

"  Don't  be  scaret,  Phil,"  she  said,  seeing  him  start 
back.  "  'T  ain't  nobody  but  me." 

"  What  do  you  want  here  ? "  he  demanded,  harshly, 
thinking  no  person  of  the  name  of  Bass  could  come 
there  with  friendly  intent.  "  To  see  if  I  have  any 
more  buckboards  to  burn  ?  " 

"Don't  speak  to  me  that  way,"  she  replied,  in  a 
pleading  voice.  "  Just  remember  we  was  friends 
once." 

"  That 's  not  pleasant  for  me,  after  all  that  has 
happened,"  said  Phil. 


MISS    BASS    ONCE    MORE.  2O/ 

"  I  know  pa  and  I  have  been  to  blame,"  Sallie 
admitted.  "  You  don't  know  how  I  have  felt  about 
it  sometimes  ;  if  you  did,  you  would  n't  look  so  cross 
at  me ;  you  'd  stop  untackling  your  hoss  and  hear 
what  I  Ve  to  say." 

"  You  can  say  nothing  that  will  interest  me 
much,"  replied  Phil,  with  tight  lips,  "  unless  you  tell 
me  who  burnt  up  my  buckboard." 

"  You  think  pa  done  that,"  said  Sallie,  with  strong 
feeling  ;  "  but  he  did  n't.  He  did  n't  know  anything 
about  it." 

Phil  gave  a  scoffing  laugh  as  he  stripped  the  har 
ness  from  Brownie's  back  and  sent  him  into  the 
stall. 

"  It 's  too  bad  there  should  have  been  all  this 
trouble,"  she  went  on.  "  If  /ever  treated  you  mean, 
it  was  coz  I  thought  too  much  of  ye.  I  can  say  it, 
now  it 's  all  over  with." 

"  I  should  hope  it  was  over  with,  if  that 's  the  way 
you  show  your  partiality ! "  replied  Phil,  bitterly ; 
yet  he  was  touched  by  the  tomboy's  humble  con 
fession. 

"  You  did  n't  always  think  me  so  awful  bad,"  she 
continued,  after  waiting  for  him  to  come  out  of  the 
stall.  "  Think  of  the  good  times  we  used  to  have 
together,  —  fishing,  sassafrasing,  nutting,  and  getting 


2O8  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

spruce  gum  and  wild  grapes !  And  the  day  when 
you  run  off  first,  and  I  coaxed  you  back,  —  was  n't  I 
a  friend  to  you  then  ?  Anyway,  I  meant  to  be.  I 
always  meant  to  be." 

"  I  thought  you  did,"  said  Phil,  remembering  her 
many  good  qualities,  notwithstanding  all  she  had 
made  him  suffer.  "  But  if  you  were  really  my 
friend,  why  didn't  you  make  your  father  keep  his 
promise  to  pay  me  wages  ?  Why  have  you  let  him 
follow  me  up  the  way  he  has  done, — claiming  the 
wages  I  was  earning  of  Krennidge,  keeping  me  out 
of  a  place,  and  doing  everything  to  injure  me  ?  " 

"  I  could  n't  help  that  ;  he  was  so  mad  coz  you  left 
us.  But  now,  Phil,  you  won't  be  too  hard  on  us, 
will  you  ? " 

"  Hard  on  you  ?  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  ; 
I  've  nothing  more  to  do  with  you  !  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  guess  you  '11  conclude  you  have,  Phil," 
said  Sallie,  wiping  away  a  tear.  "  You  'd  be  sorry 
for  pa,  if  you  could  see  him  now.  He  meant  well 
by  you,  too  ;  though  I  own  he  hain't  done  the  right 
thing." 

"  I  should  think  not,"  said  Phil,  starting  to  pull  his 
wagon  into  the  barn. 

She  went  behind  to  help  him  by  pushing,  much 
as  they  used  to  work  together  in  old  times.  After 


MISS    BASS    ONCE    MORE.  2CX) 

he  had  dropped  the  shafts,  she  stepped  forward  and 
met  him  face  to  face  as  he  turned,  looking  earn 
estly  into  his  eyes  and  saying  pathetically,  — 

"  You  'd  pity  him,  I  know,  Phil  !  They  're  trying 
to  beggar  us.  You  don't  want  that,  do  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  why  I  should  n't  want  it,"  Phil  an 
swered,  with  revengeful  hardness.  "  If  any  man 
ever  got  his  deserts,  it 's  your  father  !  " 

"  He  may  have  deserved  something,  but  not  all," 
said  Sal.  "  Think  of  his  losing  everything  at  his  age, 
even  his  good  name,  —  for  they  mean  to  take  that 
away  too." 

"  His  good  name  ?  as  if  he  ever  had  one  !  "  sneered 
Phil. 

"  I  see  you  are  awfully  down  on  him  ;  and  I  don't 
know  as  it  was  any  use  for  me  to  come  and  see  you," 
Sallie  replied,  despondingly. 

"  I  don't  see  what  use  it  could  be,  anyway,"  said 
Phil. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  do  ! "  she  cried,  giving  him  a  keen 
glance  through  her  tears.  "  You  could  save  our 
property  and  his  good  name,  if  you  chose." 

"  I  ?     How  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  There's  just  one  person  in  the  world  who  knows 
pa  did  n't  set  his  own  barn  afire,"  she  answered? 
touching  him  lightly  on  the  arm,  and  giving  him  a 


21O  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

steady,    penetrating   look.      "  And   that's   you,  Phil 
Farlow  !  " 

Phil  did  not  speak  ;  he  could  only  stand  and  stare 
at  her. 

"  Folks  thought  he  was  getting  rich ;  but  he 
wa'  n't.  He  put  everything  he  had  into  the  new 
barn,  and  borrowed  money  besides.  Now,  if  he 
loses  his  insurance,  he  won't  have  enough  left  to  pay 
his  debts.  The  company  owes  him  'leven  thousand 
dollars  on  his  policies ;  they  're  trying  to  beat  him 
out  of  it ;  and  I  don't  see  but  what  they  will,  if  you 
don't  come  forward  and  say  jest  one  word." 

"What  are  you  talking  about  ?"  cried  Phil.  "  As 
if  I  knew  anything  about  the  fire ! " 

"  Oh,  you  know ! "  she  exclaimed,  shaking  her 
finger  at  him.  It  seemed  an  effort  for  her  to  keep 
down  her  rising  passion  ;  but  she  succeeded,  and 
went  on,  in  a  tone  of  entreaty,  "  Come,  Phil  !  It 's 
no  use  your  trying  to  deny  it  to  me ;  I  know  you  set 
the  fire  as  well  as  if  I  seen  you  do  it ! " 

"You  think  me  such  a  villain  as  that!"  he  ex 
claimed,  in  a  low  voice,  looking  anxiously  to  see  if 
any  one  was  coming. 

"  I  don't  think  you  was  a  very  great  villain,  even 
if  you  did,"  said  Sal.  "  You  only  meant  to  burn  the 
old  barn,  with  the  buckboards,  —  if  they  had  hap- 


MISS   BASS    ONCE    MORE.  211 

pened  to  be  in  it.  T  wa'  n't  no  worse  than  what  you 
believed  pa  had  done  to  you.  I  'm  sure  you  never 
was  so  black  hearted  as  to  mean  to  burn  us  out  of 
house  and  home  ;  I  never  believed  that  of  you,  Phil !  " 

"  Very  considerate  in  you  indeed ! "  he  replied. 
"  Much  obliged  for  your  good  opinion.  I  '11  come 
to  you  when  I  want  written  character." 

"  You  need  n't  be  so  sarcastic,"  she  said,  still  reso 
lutely  keeping  down  something  that  sparkled  in  her 
eyes  and  almost  choked  her  voice.  "  I  'm  in  dead 
earnest.  Nobody  '11  blame  you  very  much.  If 
you  're  afraid  they  will,  —  if  you  're  afraid  of  getting 
yourself  into  trouble  by  owning  up,  — if  that's  what 
you  think  of,  you  can  manage  to  tell  some  friends  and 
then  get  out  of  the  way.  Do  it,  Phil !"  she  implored. 
"  You  sha'n't  lose  anything  by  it.  I  '11  give  you  all  the 
money  you  ask,  or  send  it  to  you,  soon  as  pa  gets  his 
insurance.  Be  good  to  me,  Phil !  Now  do  !  " 

Phil  was  in  a  tremor  of  nervous  agitation  ;  but  he 
answered  promptly,  — 

"  Either  you  are  a  fool,  Sallie  Bass,  or  you  take  me 
for  one !  To  imagine  that,  if  I  was  bad  enough  to 
do  such  a  thing,  I  would  be  good  enough  to  own  up 
to  it !  Or  do  you  mean  to  bribe  me  to  confess  a 
crime  I  am  innocent  of  by  offering  me  some  of  the 
profits  ?  You  're  crazy,  Sallie  Bass  !  " 


212  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

"  You  won't  ?  "  she  demanded,  in  a  changed  voice. 

"  Of  course  I  won't !  " 

"Then  take  care!"  she  cried,  again  shaking  her 
finger  in  his  face.  "You  think  you've  had  a  fine 
revenge ;  but  it  will  cost  you  dear.  You  won't 
enjoy  it  long;  your  own  conscience  won't  let  you. 
I  know  you  too  well,  Phil  Farlow.  It 's  an  awful 
thing  to  leave  the  wrong  person  to  be  suspected  of 
what  you  know  he  did  n't  do  ! " 

Her  voice  suddenly  broke  into  sobs.  Phil  stood 
gazing  at  her  as  if  almost  tempted  to  speak  what  he 
knew  would  thrill  her  with  joy  and  gratitude. 

"  There ! "  she  exclaimed,  resolutely  wiping  her 
eyes  and  throwing  back  her  hair.  "  Ma  told  me  I 
would  get  mad  if  I  come  to  talk  with  you  ;  but  I 
hain't !  I  'm  going  to  part  friends  with  you,  Phil,  if 
you'll  let  me.  If  you  see  us  go  to  the  poor-house, 
just  remember  that  I  know  who  sent  us  there,  and 
that  I  forgive  you."  So  saying  she  hurried  away,  as 
if  afraid  the  fiend  of  temper  she  had  kept  down  would 
rise  and  rend  them  both  at  last. 


THE   NEW    BUCKBOARD.  213 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

THE     NEW     BUCKBOARD. 

T)HIL  finished  taking  care  of  his  horse,  and  then 
-*-  walked  to  and  fro  in  the  barn,  thinking  with  no 
little  trepidation  of  this  strange  interview.  One 
phrase  of  Sallie's,  especially,  kept  ringing  in  his  ears  ; 
it  was  so  much  like  what  Clara  Chadbow  had  said  to 
him  in  the  woods  that  afternoon:  "It's  an  awful 
thing  to  leave  the  wrong  person  to  be  suspected ! " 
He  took  out  his  watch  and  looked  at  it ;  but  that 
could  not  divert  his  mind  from  his  agitating  thoughts. 
It  quickened  his  conscience,  rather. 

"  What  if  they  knew  what  I  am  keeping  back  ? "  he 
said  to  himself.  "  Why  should  I  get  into  such  a 
tangle  ?  How  shall  I  ever  get  out  of  it  ? " 

Hearing  the  clanking  wheels  of  the  evening  stage 
coach  roll  by,  Phil  looked  out  and  saw  a  bright  new 
buckboard  fastened  to  it  by  the  shafts  and  drawn 
behind.  He  was  saying  to  himself  bitterly  that  there 
were  plenty  of  buckboards  for  other  people,  but  not 
one  for  himself,  when  the  driver  reined  up  his  four 
horses  and  stopped  in  front  of  the  barn. 


214  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

"  Hallo,  Phil !  "  he  cried,  familiarly,  stepping  down 
over  the  wheels.  "  It 's  come.  Where  '11  you  have 
it  ? " 

"  What  has  come  ?  "  said  Phil. 

"  Your  new  buckboard  ;  don't  you  understand  ?  " 

Phil  did  not  understand  in  the  least.  Was  he  in  a 
dream  ? 

"  It  was  sent  to  the  doctor's  order,  and  I  took  it  to 
his  house  ;  but  he  said  bring  it  over  to  you.  He 
can  tell  you  all  about  it,  if  there 's  anything  you  want 
to  know.  I  s'pose,  meanwhile,  you  won't  have  any 
very  great  objection  to  my  leaving  it  here." 

Before  the  boy  had  begun  to  recover  from  his 
amazement,  the  driver  loosed  the  fastenings  and 
dropped  the  shafts.  Then,  mounting  to  his  seat 
again,  and  measuring  out  his  whip,  he  drove  away, 
his  half-dozen  passengers,  who  witnessed  Phil's  be 
wilderment,  no  doubt  thinking  him  a  very  stupid 
fellow  indeed. 

He  drew  the  light,  strong  vehicle  into  the  yard, 
and  there  looked  it  all  over  in  the  greatest  surprise 
and  excitement.  It  was  just  such  a  wagon  as  he 
had  talked  with  the  doctor  about  ;  and  it  was  un 
doubtedly  fresh  from  the  shop,  though  coated  with 
the  dust  of  the  stage  road.  But  whose  was  it,  and 
how  did  it  ever  get  there  ? 


THE    NEW    BUCKBOARD.  215 

He  ran  in  haste  to  the  house,  and  was  waylaid  by 
Clara,  who  asked  him  eagerly  about  the  new  vehicle. 

"  I  know  no  more  about  it  than  if  it  had  dropped 
out  of  the  sky!  I  am  going  to  ask  the  doctor; 
though  I  dread  to  leave  it,"  he  cried,  excitedly,  "for 
fear  it  won't  be  here  when  I  come  back." 

The  doctor  smiled  in  his  quiet,  humorous  way 
when  Fhil  came  rushing  into  his  office  with  the 
breathless  inquiry, — 

"  Where  did  that  buckboard  come  from  ?  Whose 
is  it?" 

The  doctor's  answer  was  very  cool  and  deliberate. 

"  It  came  from  the  manufacturers  ;  and  it  is  yours." 

"  How  —  mine?  I  thought  we  concluded  not  to 
order  it." 

"  Sit  down,  Phil,  and  don't  be  excited.  We  did 
conclude  not  to  order  it  on  your  account.  In 
fact,  the  most  I  wanted  to  get  from  you  was  an  idea 
of  the  sort  of  vehicle  you  fancied.  You  had  so  many 
friends,  and  they  all  seemed  to  feel  so  strongly  that 
not  only  you  but  the  whole  community  had  suffered 
outrage  and  loss  in  the  burning  of  your  buckboard, 
that  I  thought  they  would  be  glad  to  make  it  up  to 
you ;  so  I  .headed  a  subscription  paper,  and  soon 
had  money  enough  pledged  to  justify  me  in  sending 
the  order." 


2l6  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

"  O  Dr.  Mower  !     I  never  dreamed  of  it !  " 

"  Of  course  you  did  n't,  and  I  never  meant  you 
should.  That 's  why  I  kept  away  from  Mrs.  Shed- 
rick's  with  my  paper,  thinking  I  would  go  there  the 
last  thing,  if  it  was  necessary  ;  but  it  has  n't  been 
necessary.  Here's  a  list  of  the  names,  if  you  wish 
to  see  it." 

Phil  took  the  paper  in  his  unsteady  hand,  but  he 
could  not  read  a  word  ;  he  just  sat  there  and  cried, 
like  the  child  he  was. 

"What  is  there  to  feel  bad  about?"  said  the  doc 
tor,  winking  hard  at  a  tear  or  two  in  his  own  eyes. 
"  Hem  !  "  —  clearing  his  throat.  "  I  think  I  should 
laugh,  if  I  was  you.  Summer  boarders  and  old 
residents  united,  you  see,  in  giving  you  this  token 
of  their  sympathy  and  respect." 

Phil  managed  to  read  a  few  names,  then  tears 
rushed  into  his  eyes  again. 

"I  thought  my  friends  were  forgetting  me;  and 
they  were  doing  this  for  me  all  the  time,"  he  ex 
claimed.  "  Oh,  I  wish  I  had  known  ! " 

"  Maybe  you*  would  n't  have  felt  quite  so  hard 
towards  Bass,"  said  Dr.  Mower.  "  He 's  as  badly  off 
now  as  his  worst  enemy  could  wish  ;  and  I  guess 
even  you,  Phil,  can  afford  to  have  a  little  pity  on 
him.  Though,  to  be  sure,  he  brought  his  misfortunes 
on  himself." 


THE    NEW    BUCKBOARD. 

Phil  was  trying  to  read  the  paper  again.  Suddenly 
he  jumped  up  and  walked  quickly  to  the  window, 
where  he  appeared  to  be  struggling  with  some  power 
ful  emotion.  Then  he  turned  with  a  cry  of  distress. 

"  I  can't  stand  it !     I  can't  stand  it  !  " 

"What  is  it  you  can't  stand,  my  boy?  " 

"Something  I  have  kept  from  you, —  something  I 
must  tell  or  my  heart  will  burst ! " 

"  Ah ! "  breathed  the  doctor,  finding  there  was 
more  in  the  boy's  betrayal  of  feeling  than  he  had 
supposed.  "Tell  me  all  about  it;  don't  be  afraid." 
As  Phil  did  not  speak,  he  added,  cautiously,  after  a 
pause,  "  It 's  about  the  fire  ? " 

Phil  covered  his  face  and  gave  a  convulsive  sort  of 
nod.  It  was  some  time  before  he  could  speak  cohe 
rently,  but  as  soon  as  he  got  command  of  his  voice 
he  poured  out  his  story. 

The  doctor  listened  much  as  if  he  had  been  hear 
ing  the  confessions  of  a  patient  who  had  come  to 
him  for  counsel  and  cure ;  and  when  at  last  Phil 
exclaimed,  "Tell  me  what  to  do!"  he  answered,  em 
phatically,  — 

"There  is  only  one  thing  to  do,  of  course.  This 
is  all  a  very  great  surprise  to  me,  but  I  know  just 
how  you  have  felt,  and  why  you  have  acted  as  you 
have."  He  looked  up  at  the  clock.  "  There  is 


2l8  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

one  man  who  must  know  the  facts  in  the  case 
at  once." 

"  You  mean  Bass  ? "  said  Phil,  with  a  look  of  pain 
and  dread. 

"  I  mean  Crosby/'  Dr.  Mower  replied,  "  the  insur 
ance  agent.  I  hear  he  is  in  town  again,  trying  to 
force  Sol  Bass  to  a  settlement, — a  settlement  that 
will  leave  him  without  a  penny  in  the  world.  Come ! 
the  sooner  you  get  this  bad  business  off  your  mind 
the  better.  I  '11  go  with  you." 

Poor  Phil  felt  stronger  already  after  his  confession. 
The  doctor's  cheerful  manner  and  promises  of  help 
and  sympathy  encouraged  him,  and  after  a  little 
further  talk  they  set  off  together  to  find  the  special 
agent. 


IN    THE    LAWYERS   OFFICE.  2IQ 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

IN  THE  LAWYER'S  OFFICE. 

HP  HE  experienced  Crosby  had  scarcely  any  doubt 
-^     that  Bass  had  fairly  forfeited  his  insurance  by 
firing  his  own  barn,  yet  he  saw  the  uncertainty  of 
proving  the  company's  case  before  a  jury. 

"  Our  timid  tailor,"  he  wrote  to  the  home  office, 
"will  be  a  poor  witnesss  for  us,  I  am  afraid.  If  I 
was  a  lawyer  on  the  other  side,  I  believe  I  could  so 
tangle  him  up  in  a  cross-examination  that  he  would 
hardly  know  what  he  was  swearing  to ;  and  make  it 
appear  that  he  saw  nobody  going  into  the  barn  that 
night  but  a  spectre  his  own  terrors  conjured  up." 

As  time  elapsed,  Drigson  was  beginning  himself 
to  suspect  that  his  fears  might  have  caused  him  to 
take  some  other  person  for  Bass.  As  for  Betsy 
Doane,  she  never  once  pretended  to  have  recognized 
the  landlord,  but,  standing  farther  within  the  door 
way,  she  had  merely  had  glimpses  of  a  figure,  and 
heard  footsteps,  and  taken  Drigson's  word  that  it 
was  Solomon. 


22O  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

The  corroborating  circumstances  were  indeed 
strong,  —  Bass's  exorbitant  claims,  his  neglect  to 
save  the  old  wagons,  his  often-expressed  wish  to 
replace  them  with  new  ones,  and  the  occurrence  of 
the  fire  so  near  the  close  of  the  season.  But  these 
proved  nothing.  Nor  were  his  miserable  fears  and 
entreaties,  when  confronted  by  the  accusing  agent, 
his  readiness  to  abate  his  claims,  and  his  offer  of 
a  bribe,  inconsistent  with  his  innocence  of  the  main 
charge. 

"The  best  course  for  us,"  wrote  the  agent,  "is  to 
press  him  hard,  and  rely  upon  his  consciousness  of 
guilt  and  his  fear  of  punishment  to  make  him  yield 
his  policies." 

It  was  with  this  intention  that  he  had  returned 
from  a  brief  tour  of  the  mountains,  and  was  this  very 
afternoon  having  an  interview  with  Bass  at  the  office 
of  Bass's  lawyer.  The  conference  had  been  long, 
heated,  and  unsatisfactory.  It  was  getting  late. 
More  than  once  Mr.  Crosby  had  risen  to  depart  with 
the  threat  on  his  lips,  "  The  law,  then,  must  settle 
it ! "  but  each  time  he  had  sat  down  again  as  Bass 
begged  him  not  to  go  and  showed  signs  of  yielding. 
Then  the  door  was  opened  and  Dr.  Mower  looked  in. 
"We  have  been  to  your  boarding-house,  Mr. 
Crosby,"  he  said,  "  and  have  followed  you  here. 


IN    'I  HE    LAWYERS    OFFICE.  221 

We  've  a  little  business  with  you,  this  young  person 
and  I.  As  it  concerns  Mr.  Bass,  perhaps  you  won't 
object  to  hearing  it  in  his  presence." 

The  agent  made  no  objection ;  while  Bass,  seeing 
Phil's  pale  and  anxious  face  in  the  entry,  rolled  up  on 
his  feet  and  shook  at  him  his  fat,  clinched  hand. 

"  There  's  the  feller  that  can  settle  this  dispute,  if 
he  will,"  he  exclaimed,  with  apoplectic  passion. 

"And  like  as  not  he  will,  Solomon,"  replied. the 
doctor,  "  if  you  will  sit  down  again,  be  quiet,  and 
give  him  a  chance.  Phil  has  come  to  tell  what  he 
knows,  — and  he  knows  a  good  deal." 

"  About  the  fire  ? "  said  Bass's  lawyer. 

"About  the  fire,"  replied  the  doctor,  calmly.  "Sit 
down,  Phil,"  pushing  along  a  chair  the  lawyer  offered 
him. 

Phil  remained  standing,  his  face  pale  but  deter 
mined,  his  lips  compressed,  his  chest  heaving  with 
quick  breaths.  The  lawyer  got  Bass  into  his  seat 
again,  where  he  glowered  upon  the  boy  with  his 
bloated  face  and  pig-eyes  peering  out,  a  picture  of 
mingled  hate  and  hope  and  fear,  which  would  have 
been  comic  if  it  had  not  been  so  brutal.  He  hardly 
knew  yet  whether  Phil  had  come  to  speak  the  truth 
or  to  add  another  link  to  the  chain  of  evidence 
against  him. 


222  PHIL   AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

"  He  has  come  of  his  own  accord,"  the  doctor 
added,  "and  I  bespeak  for  him  the  consideration 
such  an  act  deserves  ;  for  he  might  not  have  come 
at  all ;  he  might  have  left  our  friend  Bass  here  in  the 
trouble  which  some  are  so  unkind  as  to  think  just 
good  enough  for  him." 

Mr.  Crosby  sat  with  one  leg  over  the  other  and 
one  arm  resting  on  the  lawyer's  table.  He  eyed  Phil 
keenly. 

"  Is  this  true,"  he  said,  at  length,  "  that  you  know 
about  the  origin  of  Bass's  fire  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Phil,  unfalteringly. 

"  Then  how  happens  it  that  you  have  kept  it  so 
long  to  yourself  ?  Did  n't  you  know  Mr.  Bass  was 
suspected,  and  in  difficulty  in  consequence  ?  " 

"  I  did,"  said  Phil ;  "  and  I  was  willing  he  should 
suffer  a  little,  —  after  what  he  has  done  to  me. 
Besides,  I  did  n't  want  to  tell  what  I  knew." 

Here  his  voice  broke  a  little,  and  his  features 
writhed.  Mr.  Crosby,  watching  him  closely,  in 
quired, — 

"  Then  why  do  you  come  forward  now  ?  " 

"I  can't  help  it;  I  feel  that  I  must,"  Phil  an 
swered.  "  Mr.  Bass  has  been  no  friend  to  me ;  he 
has  made  me  hate  him.  But  for  all  that  I  can't 
stand  off  any  longer." 


IN    THE    LAWYERS    OFFICE.  223 

Bass  could  not  keep  his  seat.  He  started  up  as  if 
to  clutch  the  boy,  and  roared  out  impatiently,  while 
the  doctor  interposed,  and  the  lawyer  held  him 
back,  — 

"  Say  it  right  out,  why  don't  ye,  if  ye  sot  the  fire, 
as  I  know  ye  did  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  set  it,"  said  Phil,  addressing  his  reply 
to  the  agent. 

"  Did  not  ?  "  Mr.  Crosby  repeated.  "  Tell  us,  then, 
who  did." 

Phil  drew  a  deep  breath,  while  a  look  of  anguish 
crossed  his  face,  and  answered,  — 

"  It  was  my  father." 


224  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

THE    BOY'S    STORY. 

FARLOW  !  "  Bass  exclaimed.  "  He  hain't  been 
round  !  " 

The  agent  waved  him  back.  "  Tell*  us  all  about 
it,"  he  said  to  Phil. 

"  He  has  been  to  see  me  twice  this  summer," 
Phil  resumed,  in  a  forced  and  hollow  voice.  "The 
first  time,  he  stayed  with  me  all  night  in  Mr.  Mar 
shall's  barn,  and  came  so  near  dropping  sparks  in  the 
straw  from  his  pipe  and  matches  that  I  determined 
never  to  let  him  in  again.  The  next  time  he  came 
was  —  that  night." 

Phil's  throat  was  dry,  his  voice  husky  and  faint; 
it  seemed  impossible  for  him  to  go  on.  The  doctor 
gave  him  a  glass  of  water  from  the  lawyer's  pitcher, 
and,  after  a  painful  pause,  he  continued,  — 

"  I  don't  know  what  time  it  was  when  he  woke  me 
up  by  rattling  the  barn-door.  I  was  frightened.  I 
did  n't  know  whether  he  had  come  again,  or  whether 
the  men  who  had  burnt  my  buckboard  were  after  my 


THE    BOY  S    STORY.  225 

horse, — and  I  couldn't  have  told  at  first  which  I 
dreaded  the  most,  — but  as  soon  as  I  was  well  awake, 
I  hoped  it  was  the  men  :  I  should  have  known  what 
to  do  with  them." 

"And  you  didn't  know  what  to  do  with  your  own 
father  ?  "  the  agent  inquired. 

"  I  did  not.  That 's  the  terrible  thing  about  it. 
He  was  once  a  bright,  fine-looking,  agreeable  man  ! 
if  I  do  say  it ! "  Phil  exclaimed,  with  deep  feeling; 
"  but  bad  habits  and  carelessness  in  money  matters 
ruined  him.  It 's  awful  to  say  so,  but  it 's  the  truth, 

—  he  is  now  just  a  miserable  vagabond      I  knew  his 
voice,  but  I  was  afraid  to  let  him  into  the  barn.     I 
handed  him  money  through    the   window,  and    sent 
him  away.     I  can  never  tell  how  I  felt  when  I  did  it, 

—  'twas  horrible  !  "     And  the  poor  boy's  voice  broke 
into  a  sob. 

Bass  observed  him  with  astonishment,  while  the 
insurance  agent  forgot  the  injury  to  his  case  in 
manly  compassion  for  the  son  who  was  forced  by  his 
conscience  to  make  this  distressing  disclosure. 

"  Well,  my  boy,"  he  said,  with  kindly  encourage 
ment,  "tell  us  the  rest." 

"  I  could  n't  stay  in  the  barn  after  he  was  gone. 
I  wanted  to  know  what  he  would  do  ;  so  I  went  out 
and  followed  him  at  a  distance.  He  went  straight 


226  PHIL   AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

to  Bass's  tavern,  as  I  was  afraid  he  would.  I  had 
given  him  only  a  little  money,  so  I  thought  I 
would  n't  stop  him  ;  but  it  was  later  than  I  sup 
posed.  The  lights  were  all  out,  and  he  couldn't  get 
in  He  tried  the  bar-room  door,  and  then  went  off 
toward  the  old  barn." 

"  Passing  by  the  kitchen  part  of  the  hotel  ?  "  said 
the  agent,  with  a  curious  smile,  as  he  thought  of  the 
tailor. 

"  Yes,  a  little  way  off  from  it,  —  perhaps  three  or 
four  rods.  It  was  n't  so  dark  but  that  I  could  see 
him  go  to  the  small  barn-door  and  get  in.  He  knew 
the  fastenings.  There  was  a  slide  you  could  move 
and  reach  your  hand  in  and  turn  the  bar,  if  you  knew 
just  how  it  worked." 

"  That  was  so  me  and  my  help  would  n't  alluz  be 
botherin'  'bout  the  key,"  spoke  up  the  excited  Bass. 
"The  boy  is  right  :  his  dad  knew  the  barn  ;  used  to 
hide  in  't  one  time  from  his  creditors." 

"I  remembered  his  pipe,"  Phil  resumed,  "and  I 
suppose  I  am  to  blame  for  not  following  him  in  and 
seeing  that  he  did  no  mischief.  But  I  thought  it 
likely  he  might  be  out  of  matches  and  tobacco  ;  I 
hoped  he  was.  And  it  was  Bass's  barn  ;  I  did  n't  feel 
like  setting  foot  inside  the  premises  of  a  man  who 
had  used  me  so.  I  went  far  enough,  though,  to  hear 


THE    BOY  S    STORY.  22/ 

a  movement  by  the  kitchen  door,  and  see  somebody 
hurry  out.  I  thought  it  might  be  Bass." 

The  agent  smiled  again,  remembering  the  tailor's 
ridiculous  story. 

"  I  waited  awhile  to  see  if  anything  happened," 
continued  Phil,  "  then  went  off  towards  home.  I 
walked  slowly,  and  kept  listening  and  looking  back. 
By  and  by  a  light  blazed  up  in  a  window,  through 
some  trees  in  the  direction  of  the  barn.  I  started 
towards  it  across  the  field,  but  soon  met  somebody 
coming  towards  me  running  and  stumbling.  I  knew 
who  it  was,  and  when  he  fell  in  a  little  hollow,  I 
hurried  down  to  him.  It  was  my  father. 

"  '  You  've  set  the  barn  afire  ! '  I  said. 

"'It's  afire,  that's  a  fact/  he  said;  'but  I  don't 
know  how  I  could  have  set  it.  I  thought  I  was  care 
ful  as  usual.' 

"  '  Careful  as  usual ! '  I  said.  *  Did  you  light  your 
pipe  ? ' 

"'I  did/ he  said,  'and  fell  asleep  with  it  in  my 
mouth.  When  I  woke  up,  everything  was  in  a  blaze. 
I  had  hardly  time  to  get  out.' 

"  He  was  frightened,  and  so  was  I,"  proceeded 
Phil.  "  I  gave  him  all  the  money  I  had  about  me, 
and  told  him  he  must  get  out  of  the  way  as  soon  as 
possible.  I  was  so  excited  I  hardly  knew  what  I  was 


228  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

about,  but  as  somebody  at  the  hotel  had  given  the 
alarm,  I  hurried  to  the  street  and  ran  up  and  down, 
screaming  fire." 

"  And  what  became  of  your  father  ? "  the  agent 
inquired. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Phil  ;  "  I  have  never  seen 
him  since." 

This,  then,  was  the  secret  which  had  preyed  upon 
the  boy's  conscience  and  made  his  life  miserable. 
His  story  was  so  manifestly  true  that  Mr.  Crosby, 
after  putting  to  him  a  few  questions,  which  were 
promptly  answered,  accepted  it  frankly,  and  begged 
Bass's  pardon  for  having  unjustly  accused  him. 

"  And  I  am  to  have  my  insurance  ? "  cried  Bass. 

"Certainly,  every  cent  that  is  justly  your  due/' 
the  agent  replied.  "  We  '11  have  the  damages  ap 
prized  at  once." 

"Glory!"  said  Bass,  rolling  from  one  leg  to  the 
other  and  floundering  about  in  a  clumsy  bear-dance 
of  exultation. 

N 

It  had  hardly  got  into  his  dull  brain  yet  that  he 
owed  anything  to  Phil ;  nor  was  Phil  at  all  anxious 
to  receive  from  him  any  expressions  of  gratitude. 
The  satisfaction  of  having  at  last  done  a  duty  which 
he  had  so  long  dreaded  was  enough  for  him. 

"Folks '11  be  tickled,  I  tell  ye!  It'll  make  Sal 
screech !  " 


THE    BOY  S    STORY.  22Q 

Bass  was  rushing  out  without  his  hat ;  he  went 
back  for  it,  and  was  crushing  it  on  his  head  as  he 
plunged  again  through  the  doorway,  when  he  ap 
peared  suddenly  to  remember  something  else. 

"  Your  dad  's  a  scamp,"  he  said,  turning  to  Phil ; 
"  but  you  've  done  me  a  good  turn,  and  you  sha'n't 
be  sorry  for  't,  as  I  promised  Sal  when  she  went  to 
talk  with  ye." 

He  was  going  again,  when  the  doctor  stopped 
him. 

"  Is  n't  it  about  time,  Bass,  for  you  to  give  up  that 
absurd  claim  on  him,  and  destroy  the  writing  his 
father  gave  you  ?  " 

Bass  hesitated  a  moment,  then  pulled  out  his 
pocket-book  and  produced  from  it  the  paper,  now 
worn  and  soiled,  by  which  the  wretched  Farlow  had 
pawned  his  son. 

"  Blast  the  thing !  "  he  said,  tearing  it,  and  stamp 
ing  on  the  pieces.  "  It  has  been  more  trouble,  nuff 
sight,  than  it 's  been  wuth.  Phil  done  well  by  me, 
and  we  might  have  been  good  friends  yit,  if  I  had  n't 
been  too  hard  on  him." 

"  How  about  burning  his  buckboard  ? "  urged  the 
doctor. 

"  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  that,  as  I  Ve  alluz 
said,"  Bass  protested  ;  "  but  I  suppose  I  can  guess 


23O  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

who  done  it,  and  soon  as  ever  I  git  my  insurance  I  '11 
give  the  boy  a  hundred  dollars." 

"  You  'd  better  give  him  an  order  on  the  insurance 
company  for  that  amount  now,"  the  doctor  shrewdly 
suggested.  "  The  agent  here  will  help  you  put  it  into 
shape." 

Sol  hesitated.     The  doctor  insisted. 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  said  Bass. 

"  To  be  sure,  you  Ve  got  a  new  buckboard,"  the 
doctor  whispered  aside  to  Phil,  while  Bass  was  getting 
pen  and  paper.  "  But  the  loss  of  the  old  one  has 
given  you  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  and  caused  more 
actual  damage  to  your  business  than  his  hundred 
dollars  will  make  good." 

"All  right!"  said  Phil,  with  rising  spirits.  "I'll 
take  it,  then  I  can  pay  my  debts." 


CONCLUSION.  231 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

CONCLUSION. 

TT  AVING  signed  the  order  which  the  agent  wrote 
•*-•*>  for  him,  Bass  went  off  shouting  his  good  news 
to  every  person  he  met.  It  spread  rapidly,  and  act 
ually  reached  Mrs.  Shedrick's  boarding-house  before 
Phil  did  ;  so  that  when  he  came  around,  after  walk 
ing  home  with  Dr.  Mower,  he  was  almost  smothered 
with  questions  and  congratulations. 

Congratulations  —  yes  ;  that  was  what  astonished 
him  more  than  anything  else.  He  had  thought  he 
could  never  look  Clara  and  her  mother  in  the  face 
after  confessing  all  the  truth  about  his  father.  But 
he  found  that  they  suspected  already  who  the  vaga 
bond  was  who  inquired  for  him  that  evening  when 
he  carried  his  supper  to  the  barp,  and  they  now 
thought  only  of  his  noble  conduct  in  sacrificing  his 
own  pride  and  revenge  for  the  sake  of  justice  even 
to  his  enemy. 

As  soon  as  Bass  had  got  a  settlement  with  the 
insurance  company,  which  proved  satisfactory  to 
both  parties,  he  made  haste  to  discharge  Lorson. 


232  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

Then  the  whole  history  of  the  buckboard  burning 
came  out. 

"You've  used  me  a  good  deal  better 'n  Bass 
has,  though  I  've  stood  his  friend  and  not  yotirn," 
the  slab-sided  one  said  to  Phil,  meeting  him  one 
evening  on  the  street.  "  I  'm  goin'  off,  to-morrow, 
but  I  'm  bound  to  tell  ye  all  about  that  scrape  fust. 
Bass  did  n't  do  it,  and  I  did  n't  do  it.  He  said  he 
would  be  the  fust  one  s'pected,  and  he  must  n't  know 
nothin'  about  it.  So  he  give  me  twenty  dollars  to 
git  it  done.  I  felt  I  must  n't  know  nothin'  about 
it  nuther;  so  I  jest  passed  the  money  on  to  Scoville 
and  Krennidge,  or  at  least  a  part  on  't,  and  left  them 
the  job,  which  Bass's  stories  about  you  and  your 
cuttin'  under  made  'em  only  too  glad  to  do.  Now 
don't  you  go  to  layin'  it  up  ag'in  me." 

"I  won't  lay  it  up  against  you,"  Phil  replied,  "if 
you  will  go  to  Dr.  Mower  with  me,  and  say  again  in 
his  presence  what  you  have  said  to  me  here." 

"  Of  course  I  '11  do  that,"  said  Lorson. 

The  next  day  he  disappeared,  and  it  was  not  long 
before  both  Scoville  and  Krennidge  followed  him,  so 
strong  was  the  feeling  excited  against  them  in  the 
community  by  Lorson's  revelations. 

For  the  same  reason,  or  others  equally  good, 
Bass  himself  concluded  not  to  rebuild  his  hotel  and 


CONCLUSION.  233 

stables,  but  to  sell  his  teams,  and  invest  his  money 
in  a  public  house  in  Connecticut,  where  his  wife's 
relations  lived.  The  lively  Sallie  went  with  her 
parents,  and  Phil  was  to  see  her  no  more. 

He  did  not  grieve,  although  he  regarded  her  with 
only  kindly  feelings  now,  remembering  all  her  admi 
rable  qualities,  and  forgiving  the  faults  which  were 
attributable  to  her  unfortunate  temper  and  to  the 
bad  influences  which  had  surrounded  her  all  her  life. 
When  he  heard  afterwards  that  she  had  married  a 
worthy  man,  he  was  sincerely  glad. 

"  I  Ve  no  doubt  she  will  make  him  a  good  wife," 
he  said,  "  if  she  keeps  away  from  the  old  folks,  and 
if  she  is  n't  too  particular  about  the  matter  of  his 
neckties." 

Even  towards  Bass  the  boy's  heart  was  strangely 
softened.  This  was  not  for  anything  Bass  had  done 
for  Phil,  but  because  Phil  had  himself  been  just  and 
generous  to  Bass.  If  you  would  learn  to  forgive 
your  enemy,  go  and  do  him  a  service. 

Phil's  father  came  back  upon  him  two  or  three 
times  ;  and  during  the  following  summer,  when  Phil 
was  running  two  buckboards  and  a  "sunshade," 

—  a  vehicle  so  called  from  its  cover  and  open  sides, 

—  he  made  a  faithful  attempt  to  reform   the  vaga 
bond  and  set  him  to  work.     But  Farlow  could  not 


234  PHIL    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 

stand  that  long,  especially  since  the  tavern  had  dis 
appeared  and  Thunder  Brook  had  become  a  temper 
ance  village. 

He  was  soon  off  again,  and  the  next  Phil  heard 
of  him  was  through  a  letter  which  he  received  in  the 
winter  from  the  authorities  of  a  town  on  the  Hudson, 
where  Farlow,  having  nearly  perished  from  exposure 
in  a  storm,  had  been  received  into  a  poor-house. 

Phil  hastened  to  him,  and  spent  his  earnings  freely, 
like  the  dutiful  son  he  was,  in  having  him  cared  for  to 
the  last.  Farlow's  once  fine  constitution  was  broken  ; 
it  never  rallied,  and  within  a  month  he  had  paid  the 
one  solemn  debt  which  no  man  can  evade. 

The  death  of  a  father  is  to  most  children  an  irrep 
arable  loss  and  grief.  It  was  a  grief  to  Phil  also ; 
the  more  bitter  because  he  had  hoped  all  along  that 
he  might  still  reclaim  the  wretched  man :  the 
older  he  grew,  the  more  earnestly  he  had  resolved  to 
devote  the  best  energies  of  his  life  to  that  task. 
But  how  could  he  help  one  who  would  not  help  him. 
self  ?  Not  even  an  angel  from  heaven  might  do  that. 

"What  are  you  going  at  now  ?"  said  his  good 
friend  the  doctor,  when  he  returned  and  told  his 
story.  "  Your  teaming  is  prosperous,  but  it  occu 
pies  you  only  about  three  months  in  the  year." 

"I  know  it,"  said  Phil;  "and  even  if  it  took  the 


CONCLUSION.  235 

whole  of  my  time,  I  don't  feel  that  it  is  just  what  I 
want  to  do  all  my  life.  I  want  to  know  more  than 
I, could  ever  learn  in  that  business." 

He  might  have  added  that  he  wished  to  become  a 
noble  and  cultivated  man  for  the  sake  of  somebody 
else  he  meant  to  live  for  now  that  his  father  was 
gone.  But  he  had  not  yet  dared  to  breathe  the 
thought  even  to  that  somebody  else. 

"  That 's  good,"  said  Dr.  Mower,  with  his  wise 
smile.  "  How  would  you  like  to  come  and  study 
with  me,  and  learn  to  be  a  doctor  ? " 

"I've  been  thinking,"  replied  Phil,  "that  is  just 
what  I  should  like  to  do." 


THE   END. 


BY  REV.  P.  C.  HEADLEY. 


SIX  VOLUMES.    ILLUSTRATED.    PER  VOL. 


FIGHT  IT  OUT  ON  THIS  LINE.     The  Life  and  Deeds 
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FIGHTING    PHIL.      The    Life    and   Military    Career   of 
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THE  MINER  BOY  AND  HIS  MONITOR.      The    Car 
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VASCO     DA     GAM  A: 

HIS     VOYAGES     ANT     ADVENTURES. 

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perilous  situations ;  and  Mr.  Towle,  while  not  sacrificing  historical  accuracy, 
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HIS    ADVENTURES     AND     CONQUESTS. 

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MAGELLAN; 

OR,  THE  FIRST  VOYAGE  ROUND  THE  WORLD, 
"What  more  of  romantic  and  spirited  adventures  any  bright  boy  could 
want  than  is  to  be  found  in  this  series  of  historical  biography,  it  is  ditficult 
to  imagine.  This  volume  is  written  in  a  most  sprightly  manner;  and  the 
life  of  its  hero,  Fernan  Magellan,  with  its  rapid  stride  from  the  softness  of 
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MARCO     POLO: 

HIS    TRAVELS     AND     ADVENTURES. 

"The  story  of  the  adventurous  Venetian,  who  six  hundred  years  ago  pene 
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clearly  told;  and  nothing  better  can  be  put  into  the  hands  of  the  school  boy 
or  girl  than  this  series  of  the  records  of  noted  travellers.  The  heroism  dis 
played  by  these  men  was  certainly  as  great  as  that  ever  shown  by  conquering 
warrior ;  and  it  was  exercised  in  a  far  nobler  cause,  —  the  cause  of  knowledge 
and  discovery,  which  has  made  the  nineteenth  century  what  it  is."  —  Graphic. 

RALEGH: 

HIS     EXPLOITS     AND     VOYAGES. 

"  This  belongs  to  the  '  Young  Folks'  Heroes  of  History  '  series,  and  deals 
with  a  greater  and  more  interesting  man  than  any  of  its  predecessors.  With 
all  the  black  spots  on  his  fame,  there  are  few  more  brilliant  and  striking 
figures  in  English  history  than  the  soldier,  sailor,  courtier,  author,  und  ex 
plorer,  Sir  Walter  Ralegh.  Even  at  this  distance  of  time,  more  than  two 
hundred  and  fifty  years  after  his  head  fell  on  the  scaffold,  we  cannot  read  his 
Ptory  without  emotion.  It  is  graphically  written,  and  is  pleasant  reading, 
not  only  for  young  folks,  but  for  old  folks  with  young  hearts."  —  Woman's 
Journal. 

DRAKE: 
THE    SEA-LION     OF     DEVON. 

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etirring,  bold,  and  adventurous,  from  early  youth  to  old  age. 

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